Phantasmic Images
by sapphireswimming
Summary: Summer oneshot challenge with DannyPhantomSG-1. Various ratings and genres. 1- Cryptic. Sam is dead. Tucker and Jazz are concerned as Danny pushes them away, but didn't realize how serious it was until they found a note in his empty room. Tragedy, rated K
1. Cryptic

Welcome to my summer 2011 oneshot collection!

DannyPhantomSG1 and I are writing all summer long in order to stay in touch since we can no longer just walk down the hall to say hello. :) It's her idea and so you'll have to thank her for everything good that comes of this project. Her album is _Informal Inspirations_ ( .net/s/6972859/1/ ), but I will include the individual titles to her companion pieces if we write on the same prompt.

There are a dozen we can choose from including: words/phrases, dictionary words of the day, sets of song lyrics, and some poetry. These pieces probably won't be as polished as some of my other simply because there is limited time to mull over and perfect them. Hopefully, you will enjoy anyway. :)

My blanket disclaimer for the entire collection is as follows: I don't own Danny Phantom.

**NOTE: (8/31/11)**: All of the stories are up. I'll probably go back through and fix typos and whatnot, but we're done for now. I may try to expand some of the stories in the near future, especially _Who I Am_ and _Nerves_, if I can get ideas and inspiration to do so. If you have ideas or suggestions, I would love to hear them. As well as comments in general. I love reviews and will definitely reply to you if you're signed in. :D

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><p><strong>Table of Contents:<strong>

**1. Cryptic**. May 12, 2011. Tragedy. K. TxJ DxS. Sam is dead. Tucker and Jazz are very concerned as Danny pushes them away, but didn't realize how serious it was until they found a note in his empty room.

**2. Walk in Darkness**. May 15, 2011. Suspense/Horror. T. NP. Vlad starts on the nightly tour of his castle, only to find that something isn't quite right. It turns out that ghosts can be haunted too...

**3. Pretty Lies**. May 19, 2011. Angst. K. NP. A depressed Danny reflects on what he has realized as he's grown up. It turns out that everything you learned as a kid is just a pretty lie; there are no heroes, not really...

**4. You Will Remember**. May 24, 2011. Humor/Friendship. K. NP. Ghost Writer discovers a set of lyrics that would be perfect for Ember to sing. When she refuses to even consider them, he just doesn't understand why...

**5. Animal**. May 26, 2011. Humor/Fluffiness. K. DxS. A week before graduation finds the trio ditching school. Naturally, their normal bout of good-natured teasing ensues...

**6. Assay**. May 29, 2011. Humor. K. NP. Danny goes to Casper High to find that things are a little weird. Well, weirder than normal, that is. Set after Micro Management.

**7. Fireworks**. July 4, 2011. General. K. NP. Nothing beats a city-wide show of ghostly fireworks. Happy Fourth of July!

**8. Who I Am**. July 1, 2011. Mystery/Drama. K+. DxSxG/E. Gregor/Elliot comes back to Amity Park seeking Sam's help because something has happened to him. But she's not quite sure what to think... about any of it.

**9. Blessed Ghost**. June 20, 2011. Drama. K. NP. After waking up five feet above her bed, Maddie is forced to rethink everything she has ever known about ghosts.

**10. Iota.** July 5, 2011. Humor. K. NP. The first few moments of Dan's rampages and the idea behind the name of his greatest power told through the monocled lense of a few underused ghost chaps.

**11. Nerves.** July 25, 2011. ?. K. DV. AU. Exploring the compound on her search to find Maddie and join the Ghosthunters, Valerie comes across a blue-eyed boy who was seriously starting to get on her nerves.

**12. Ancient Town. **August 4, 2011. Adventure/Suspense. K. NP. While being chased by Skulker, Danny comes across ruins of an ancient town. The longer he explores it, the more he realizes just where he is... in trouble.

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><p><strong>Cryptic<strong>

**Week One: May 12, 2011**

"Hey, how is he today?"

"As well as can be expected. Better even. He is a lot stronger than any of us really give him credit for; he's shown us that again and again. But he's still only human and he has to deal with everything that comes with the territory. The grief. It hit him hard and he is experiencing all the classic symptoms of the loss of a loved one…"

"In other words, he's a mess."

She sighed. "Yeah…"

There was silence for a few pained moments before Tucker broke it again.

"He told her that afternoon, you know. Finally admitted it. I'd been trying for years and got his courage worked up. And just an hour after he does…"

"Now you're starting to sound like Danny."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you sounded like you think it happened because you finally convinced him to admit his feelings for her."

"But how does that…?"

"He thinks it's his fault."

"But it isn't. I mean, that doesn't even make sense! It was an accident."

"I know. But he doesn't want to see reason. He's just stubborn like that."

"Dude, that's bad. Have you tried talking to him?"

Jazz gave him a pointed look.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he put his hands out in front of him as if hoping to placate the girl. "You're Jazz. You talk. It's your thing. That was a dumb question."

"Yeah, it was." She smiled. "But, seriously, I did talk with him this morning, through the door." She added almost as an afterthought, "just to make sure he could handle seeing you today like we arranged."

"…handle seeing me?"

"Well, he hasn't actually come out of his room to my knowledge. He's been pushing everyone away, refusing to see anyone. It's his way of dealing with things. He just needs time to figure it all out." She shrugged. "Sometimes, that's how people react."

"Yeah…"

"You have to realize that this is the second time he's had to live through Sam's death. And before you ask, yes, he did talk to Clockwork; it was the first thing he did, but apparently he can't, or won't, mess with the time stream again. So he has to live through this all again. It's hitting Danny a lot harder than it would even a normal person. Especially since he did actually break down his barriers enough to tell Sam that he loved her. He's really vulnerable right now. Just agreeing to see you is a huge step."

"But I'm his best friend!"

"Exactly."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well, you know; you're the other end of the trio. You two were never together without Sam. Seeing you will only reinforce her absence and I didn't want to remind him of that until he was ready for it."

"You think he is?"

She shrugged. "He said he is. I think if he is willing to try, we should let things play out. It may help a lot. If not, well, I'm sure you'll understand if…"

"Yeah. I'll leave if he doesn't want to see me." Tucker swallowed to clear his throat of the lump that was rising.

Jazz watched him sympathetically. She could see just how much he was hurting. His eyes were dull and he lacked his normal spunk. He had become more soft-spoken in the past several weeks as well. Sam's death had completely devastated all of them.

Even Jazz would find herself occasionally wiping away tears that she didn't know she had. She may not have been friends with Sam like Danny or Tucker were, but she _was_ her friend. At least, Sam was probably the only girl around her own age that she could claim to be in any way close to...

And she was gone, now. All because of a stupid drunk driver. The girl had been fighting ghosts for years now and she was killed because of an accident. Simply being in the wrong place and the wrong time. Nothing could have prevented it. Nothing could have saved her.

But Danny did not see it that way. While he was pushing everyone away in order to deal with his grief and misplaced guilt, Tucker needed someone else to lean on. There was only so much that a PDA would listen to; he needed a human shoulder to cry on. Sam used to be that shoulder, but she was not here any more. That was the whole point. He had lost his rock, and the only other person to which the techno-geek could turn had locked himself in his room refusing to come out. If Danny broke down now, lost his nerve and shut the door, Tucker's last defence would be shattered.

Jazz saw it and understood his reservations.

"It'll be okay. He'll be glad to see you, I'm sure."

Tucker smiled to reassure himself.

Jazz looked at her watch. "Well, do you think we should head up?"

Tucker nodded and they were about to climb the stairs when Maddie came down.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. F."

"Hello Tucker, Jazz." She paused then, as if unsure of whether she wanted to ask them something.

"Is everything okay, Mom?"

"I'm not sure, sweetie."

She became defensive immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I just went in to check on Danny..."

"Yes? And? Is he...?"

"He's not in his room." She said slowly. "Do you know where he would be?"

Tucker and Jazz shared a look.

"Umm..."

"Actually..."

"He said he was going to meet us here in a couple minutes."

"That's strange though, I didn't hear him leave."

"He did, Mom, almost half an hour ago. You were in the lab."

Maddie nodded. "Well, it's an improvement. I'm glad he got out of his room. Let me know when he gets back, will you?"

"Sure thing, Mom!"

Jazz sighed in relief when Maddie had left.

"That was close."

"Tell me about it."

"Is he really not in his room?"

"Well, he could be out dealing with a ghost or just flying. Flying helps him deal with things. Then again, he could have just gone invisible if he didn't want to talk with Mom or deal with her therapy sessions. Sometimes, you need to let him be in order for him to get better instead of constantly hounding him with questions and making him talk things through. Being overprotective like that will smother him, but he always comes round eventually if you leave him alone and wait long enough."

Tucker tried to hide his snort of laughter but Jazz heard it.

"What?"

"Oh, nothin'. Anyway, should we go check on him?"

"Yeah, that would be good. But if he really is out, we don't want Mom to catch him coming in without someone to clue him in on the story we cooked up. How about you stay here and I'll see if he's in his room. I'll let you know if he's there and then you can come up."

"Sounds good."

Tucker took his post at the foot of the stairs and stood there worrying and waiting until he heard a loud _thud_ above him. He wouldn't have thought anything about it in a halfa-infested household, but it was followed by a poorly muffled cry.

_Jazz_.

He tripped up the stairs, making a huge commotion in his hurry.

"Jazz? Danny?"

He walked in the partially opened door wrist ray at the ready. No ghost was going to take Tucker Foley down without a fight.

But there was no ghost in sight. No Danny, either. Just Jazz, collapsed on the floor.

After a quick sweep of the room to make sure that there was no threat, he knelt down and gently pulled her up so that she was facing him. Tears streamed down her face and sobs wracked her slim frame.

"Whoa, Jazz, what is it? What happened? Where's Danny?"

She could not answer him, but curled into his shoulder and continued to cry. The move startled him and he was not sure quite what to do.

He had never had to comfort a girl except for Sam once or twice and he could not really use those as guides because they always ended with her promising to kick him to kingdom come with her steel-enforced combat boots if he ever whispered a syllable of what had happened to anyone.

So he just held Jazz, rocking her back and forth and whispering what he hoped were comforting sentences until she would calm down enough to tell him what was going on.

Her parents rushed into the room before that happened, however, attracted by Jazz's initial fall and Tucker's noisy ascent up to the second floor.

"Is it a ghost?" Jack ran in with bazooka blazing.

"What's going on here?" Maddie asked Tucker, concerned when she saw the state her daughter was in.

"I don't really know, I just came up here and she was crying. I haven't been able to get her to tell me anything."

Maddie knelt down and took over from Tucker. She smoothed her hair down soothingly and spoke quietly. "It's alright, sweetie. Whatever it is, we can make it better." Jazz shook her head into her mother's teal Hazmat and made a pained noise. Maddie looked up at the two men in the room to see them just as confused as she was. "What is it, Jazz, honey, what's wrong?"

Jazz held out a crumpled piece of paper which Jack took with his usual eagerness, but couldn't make heads nor tails of whatever it was supposed to be. He gave it to Maddie's outstretched hands, but she too could not make much of the message.

It was in Danny's handwriting—that she knew. It was a little messier than normal and there were tearstains on it, but whether they were from her son or daughter, she could not tell. The note itself did not mean anything to her. It was just a few lines and did not even say anything concrete. How could it have reduced Jazz to tears?

"Mrs. F?"

Maddie looked at Tucker and handed the note to him, hoping that he could come up with something from the paper. She wanted explanations. Perhaps Danny's best friend could give them.

Tucker read the note apprehensively and paled.

No. It couldn't be. He couldn't mean that. He had promised them—all of them. But there it was in black and white. And Danny was nowhere to be seen. So he had actually…

The note fluttered to the floor as his eyes went wide and his jaw opened in shock.

He did not see Jack's hand waving in front of his face. Jazz's crying and Maddie's frantic questions were lost on him.

Of course they would not have understood the note—how could they have? Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were the only ones who could possibly know what he meant. They were the only ones who had known what would have happened…

.

_I guess it really was just a matter of time. I'm so, so sorry. —Danny_

_._

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><p><strong>Wow. For all the trouble I had coming up with a story for the prompt, that kind of wrote itself. :) Wasn't expecting the TxJ (just for you, DPSG1!) or that dramatic of an ending.<strong>

**So there's the first installment… would love to know what you think. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Walk in Darkness

**A Walk in Darkness**

**Week One: May 15, 2011**

.

_~ All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness… ~_

Washington Irving's _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_

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><p>He walked through all of the rooms one last time before retiring for the night.<p>

It was habit—ingrained into him years ago. Beginning at the garrets of his castle towers, he checked every room in each floor until he ended in his own chambers more than ready to bid the day farewell. He systematically and logically perused the hallways and the dark corners of otherwise unvisited rooms in the far reaches of his mansion, examining each until he was thoroughly satisfied that nothing was amiss.

After completing each section of his inspection he tapped a button on his watch which brought up a glowing ghost shield and effectively isolated that part of the house and protected it from an attack of any sort.

It was an eerie journey, his stylish Italian shoes clacking on marble floors and echoing against the suits of armor that he had acquired in his travels and kept lined up along the hall for some unknown reason.

Perhaps he enjoyed the memories, but the billionaire was not known for being sentimental. It may have been that the sharp blades of the halberds, axes, and swords brought him comfort, but it was not as if he needed physical weapons to defend himself from any puny thief who was stupid enough to enter his domain looking to abscond with his autographed Packers football.

Another possibility was that seeing the shapes of human forms in the long remote hallway brought him comfort but he would have been the first to deny that he needed human companionship to be happy.

No. He did not even know why he kept them, but it certainly was not for any of those reasons.

Perhaps it was a way to show off his wealth to himself. No one else ever came to this place so they could not have been meant to impress any visitors. So, too, the size of the house was extravagant and unnecessary. A single man could not possibly use all of the rooms and, again, there was never any one else around to enjoy them. Having such a large residence, however, proved his status to anyone paying attention and gave a necessary boost to his image in the business world. Men with mansions make good business partners. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world, after all—of course he would own a castle.

Then again, his nightly walks often made him wish that he did not have such an impractically large home. It made his tour tedious, but he was not about to stop taking it or cutting it short by even a few rooms.

He remembered all too well what happened last time he neglected his tour… He shivered at the half crazed images floating before him as he thought back to that night. They stayed with him despite his efforts to clear his head, making the tour through his deserted house seem even lonelier than it was to begin with.

He carried no light with him because he did not really need it to see; his night vision was excellent thanks to his ghostly powers.

The halls seemed to grow longer and his steps quieter as he went along.

The shadows deepened.

He shivered, but continued on as before, except he might have had just a slightly quicker step, but he berated himself for even that small change.

He was a half-ghost, for goodness' sake! A little cold was not going to spook him in his own house.

But that was just it… this was his house. Which meant that it was plagued by all of the things that plagued him…

As he neared the next door on his route, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up and some place in the back of his head began to tingle.

After pausing a moment to steel his frayed nerves, he stretched out a hand that was still shaking against his will to turn the handle.

He was determined to continue on his way as he had planned, to look his old calm and collected self. He would not react to what was probably a false alarm and would not give them the satisfaction of knowing that he was actually scared of…

A sudden drop in temperature stopped that train of thought. Soon, it was so cold that he could see his ragged breath in front of him.

His eyes went wide and his heart stopped beating for a long moment as he stood frozen in place.

There was no explaining this away. Hallways did not randomly become thirty degrees without cause.

And suddenly, the memories surged, despite all of his desperate efforts to keep them at bay. They were the same memories that he had brushed aside earlier, the ones that were forgotten under the bright light of day but which came out to haunt him while he tread through the dark and deserted hallways of his mansion.

It was happening again.

One of _them_ was in that room.

He licked his lips and glanced around. Nothing. They were not ready to show themselves. But they knew he was there. There would be no easy escape now. They had decided to torment him and they would not leave until they had what they came for.

Just when he had finally convinced himself that it was all a dream and they would not be able to bother him because they simply did not exist and the memories weren't memories at all, they had decided to come back to shatter that fragile yet comforting illusion.

"F-fudge nutters…" he managed to whisper haltingly.

As soon as he was able to once again command his body, he tore down the hall, frantically tapping buttons on his watch as he did so.

He somehow knew that it—or they—began to move just when he had turned his back on the dark doorway they were behind.

He risked a glance over his shoulder to monitor the progress of the green glowing shield following him down the hallway. It should have been a reassuring sight, after all, he had modified it during an intense lab session on one of the rare days he was convinced that something just like this had actually happened. So it should work against it—them. But he hadn't activated it soon enough. It would not come in time, not in time to help him…

Panting, the made it to the double doors at the end of the hall, but somehow knew even before he tried the massive handles that it would be closed to him. It was as if they were locked and barred. He could rattle them on their hinges all he wanted, but the part of his mind that was still functioning rationally knew that it was useless and he was just making a spectacle of himself.

They had gotten to the door before him.

He was trapped here in this hallway. With them.

The doors were locked to his human form and the now fully-activated ghost shield would prevent his ghostly qualities from helping him.

His face paled as he realized that as per his instructions, the shield couldn't be deactivated until morning. There was no way for him to get out of here…

His only hope—and it was a desperate one—as he turned around was that the shield had separated him from the things instead of caging them all in the narrow hallway together. That frail hope was shattered, however, when he saw the shadowy shapes he had tried to hard to forget floating slowly toward him, uninhibited by his invention.

Panicked, Vlad triggered his transformation and blasted hot magenta energy at them, knowing full well from those past experiences which he had since chalked up to half-crazed dreams that it would do nothing to faze them. No matter that his blasts should have killed a mortal, disabled even the most powerful of ghosts; it did nothing to them. They didn't even seem to notice that anything had been fired their way, but they just kept coming closer and closer. They were to the third suit of armour now.

While he still had time, he moved away from the door. Even though it meant moving closer to them, he decided it was worth it to get away from the locked door. He despised feeling cornered.

He inched toward the nearest man-at-arms until he was sheltered beneath a great double bladed axe. Beady red eyes flashed at him in the reflection of the weapon's gleaming edge.

Turning to face them, he found that it was hard to distinguish their grey forms and tell where the shadows ended and they began. He knew that they were getting closer. The red became more intense and he could _feel_ them inching forward in slow motion.

Their eyes locked onto his own, rooting him in place and boring through his mind until they had exposed every evil plot and immoral thought until nothing was left but the pitiful shell of an empty and egotistical man.

He was no threat to them.

Not anymore.

Silently, the glided onward, their force growing as more and more of them materialized from the floor, walls, or empty rooms around them.

Vlad backed up when he saw the bloodlust in his eyes. They were focused on nothing more than tearing him apart limb from limb…

There was only far he could move, however, and soon a glimpse to his right confirmed that he had indeed come to rest against the wall.

There was nowhere he could go.

Whipping his head around to face his assailants, he realized just how many of them there were, hovering there without a sound.

No. There could not be that many of them. There had only ever been one or two. Even in his worst terror-filled half-remembrances, there were never more than three. But there must be nearly twenty here.

No. No; he was dreaming. He had to be. Just like he had dreamed up the others. That was all they were; they had only been nightmares. Awful, horrible, all-too-vivid nightmares that plagued him without end. But they were not real. They were not real. They never had been.

But nightmare or no, he could see them now, in front of him and bearing down with that deadly gleam unwavering in their eyes.

He looked up at them in sheer terror.

It was perhaps the first time in his life that he had ever felt so powerless, so completely helpless, so scared. He had no control over what was about to happen. He could do nothing to stop them from doing whatever they pleased. No money, no words, no ghost powers could do anything now. And there was no one to save him.

His mouth was dry, so very dry, that he barely managed to croak out, "What do you want from me?"

Silence.

His heart beat wildly in his ears and his arms trembled as he braced himself against the wall, trying not to shrink into to show the fear that was overrunning his system. The smirk with which he had faced every ghostly or human foe was conspicuously absent.

"Nothing."

.

"Everything," came the whispers from a thousand places.

With that, the shadowy shapes descended upon him en masse, until he couldn't see anything beyond a suffocating grey.

The arms of the figures closest to him lengthened out into sharp claws and they hissed like demon cats as they reached for him.

When the first one struck, he thought he was going to die.

It was a pain far greater than anything he had ever experienced. It went beyond any fight against any ghost he had met in his twenty years of travels through even the most remote reaches of the Ghost Zone. It was much more intense than the blast that stupid Jack Fenton had caused to aim straight at his face.

No, this felt as if they were digging through him, rearranging his organs and bringing ligaments to light that should never have been seen no matter how badly he was cut open. As the claws came back out, dripping with his own blood, he felt numb and unable to breathe. But the sight and smell of the blood started the flows of attacks. The claws came down again and another pair joined in and another and another.

He tried to defend himself, but it was useless; none of his powers worked on them. Electricity sparked, blasts flew, shields were thrown up. He even tried duplicating, but that only gave them an opportunity to cut into more of him at once, so he quickly terminated that attempt.

In a last desperate effort, he grabbed the axe out from the hold of the knight he stood next to, causing the empty form to fall and topple the other men-at-arms just like a row of dominoes, clashing, echoing, reverberating like some demented accompaniment to the revenge of the wronged spirits.

They continued their unholy noises as they swept through every guard he put up in order to get at him, tear his flesh, make his blood run cold even as it ran across the floor in great thick rivers.

Soon, he had lost too much of it to remain in his ghostly form and was forced to transform back into the pitiful human they all knew him to be.

Some part of his mind hoped that these creatures would leave him alone when they had stripped him of his supernatural powers, but he had no such luck. If anything, they became even more incensed to see his hair a silvery-white once more and began to reach for him with renewed vigor.

As he tried once again to get away, his feeble attempt made him fall to the floor as he slipped on his own blood.

He lay facedown, prone and open to the deadly swipes that continued to rein down upon him.

He had tried to remain stoic, but everything had become too overwhelming for him. The pain became so intense that he began to scream.

If he had had a wail like Daniel, the castle would have toppled down. But the agonizing yells did nothing to help him now—it did not stop his assailants and did not bring any help to him. There was no one around to hear him, and he doubted that they would even care to come to his aid if they did.

But he could not hold it in any longer; he screamed from the very core of his being, putting into it every ounce of his anguish and suffering. Tears streamed down his face as he curled into a fetal position and tried desperately to protect himself from the fury of his attackers.

He could smell his blood, hear the shrieks of the attacking spirits, and feel the anguish as each new stroke caused fresh blood to spill out onto the floor. There was no part of him not soaked with the warm, sticky liquid and he could not imagine that there was much more still in him.

He waited to spend out the rest of his half-life with mixed blood upon the marble floor of his ill-gotten mansion, undone by the ghosts of the same people he had stolen from, cheated, and ruined to get it.

Soon, very soon, he was gasping, desperately reaching for the air that would save him but refused to move down to his lungs. He did not even know if those were still intact; the wheezing, whistling noise coming from his chest suggested otherwise.

It seemed to go on for hours and they never seemed to tire. He wondered how long they could keep it up and decided that it would continue long after he had given up the ghost. He didn't even have the energy to realize that he had just thought of a pun, let alone react to it. He just wanted to die, or at least lose consciousness.

His vision went black long before his body stopped responding to each new wave of pain. No longer able to anticipate the blows of his attackers, he had to accept them as they came, too weak to brace himself or attempt to move. Where could he move to get away from them? They were everywhere…

Even unable to see the world around him, he could envision hosts of their red eyes leering at him through the shadows, enjoying every scream they drew from him, every drop of blood that hit the floor.

It took far too long, in his opinion, to come to the end and he willingly gave himself up to the darkness that came to claim him.

* * *

><p>"Sir? Sir!"<p>

A voice finally penetrated the fog of his mind, but it took several minutes to place it as his butler.

"Carl?" Vlad croaked.

"Yes, sir. Are you alright?"

It took him a long moment to process the question, and then an even longer moment to wonder why the question was asked—why should he not be alright?

That was when the events of the previous evening came crashing back through his head and he stiffened, suddenly terrified out of his mind that the ghosts were not done with him yet.

He turned a pale face to look around him. He verified that none of them were waiting to finish him off, but as he thought about it, it would have been impossible for Carl to make his way through the sea of bloodthirsty grey bodies to wake him up if they had still been here. No, that did not make any sense. The shield must be down then as well…

A quick look assured him that that conjecture, too, was right. But as his mind cleared enough to let him really take in his surroundings, his brow furrowed.

This… was all wrong.

His knights were all righted and their ceremonial weapons restored to their rightful positions, including the axe he had wielded to no avail. It looked like the place had never been disturbed; if he hadn't been there, he would not have believed that the hall had been the scene of utter chaos the night before.

He did not feel as though he had been flayed alive. In fact, he felt fine, barring a little soreness that was only to be expected from having spent the past several hours facedown on a marble floor. Propping himself on his hands and knees, he looked at himself, still barely comprehending that he was not in agony.

And then he really looked at himself.

There was no blood.

None on the floor, none on his clothes, none even dried underneath where he had been laying. It was impossible that it had been cleaned by his staff, then, without his noticing. That could explain his men-at-arms, but not the blood, not his lack of injuries.

He poked and prodded himself in a manner that must have thoroughly confused the person watching him. He did not care about his audience, however, just the fact that he had no wounds at all, not even scratched.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"Ye-yes. I believe I am…"

"You've been working too hard again, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. Running seven companies will exhaust you like that so you don't even find your way to your own bed for the night. Let's get you up, then…"

Vlad was still too stunned to cut off the man's rant or reject the offered assistance as was his habit. Carl looked at him oddly when he had finally gotten up.

"Are you sure that you are alright, sir?"

"Yes. I am fine." His curt answer restored their professional relationship to its proper bounds and forestalled any further shows of concern on Carl's part. He told his man to go on ahead, that he would be fine to start his day by himself.

He looked around at the hallway with glazed eyes.

He could not understand it— How?

How had it all gotten back to normal? Why were the knights standing as if they had never been toppled? How had the floor been cleaned of his two-toned blood? Where had all of his wounds gone?

He did not imagine it— he could not have.

He could still see their eyes, feel their claws, hear their screams.

It had been right here… this was where he had fallen, to his death, he thought; where his life-force had bled out of his tattered skin.

But he was whole, sound of mind and body. His clothes were just a little wrinkled, but there was nothing to suggest that he had been fighting for his very existence and losing just a few hours ago in this very place.

He could not wrap his mind around it, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he was still alive, he was not going to point out to whoever may be listening that the fact he should not be. So he turned his back on the pristine hallway, heading for the habitable quarters of the house.

With his hand still on the handles of the double doors, he looked back once more, searching for some hint that he was not mad, that he had not really imagined or dreamed up such an attack, but there was nothing to prove it true.

Shaking his head to clear it of those thoughts, he closed the door behind him.

And stopped.

He stood stock still and his heart began to race and pound in his temples as he felt a chill run up his spine.

The he turned to hear a soft hissing noise, so soft that he could easily believe he was imagining it, coming from somewhere by his left.

A flash of red…

* * *

><p><strong>My first attempt at some sort of horror. Haha. Probably my last too. I don't think I pull it off very well. Poor Vlad…<strong>

**I know it's coming out a bit later, but this was written in honour of Friday the 13th, when I came up with the idea. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Pretty Lies

**Not really a companion piece to: Danny Phantom SG1's _Pretty Lies_ (I know, we're both so original, right?) at .net/s/6972859/2/#  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Pretty Lies<strong>

**Week One: May 19, 2011**

.

_-Pretty Lies_ from Frank Wildhorn's musical: _The Count of Monte Cristo_

_._

_Life would sail on, pretty lies, full of bliss_

_I saw my life changing, but never changing like this…_

_Such pretty lies masquerading as duty and honor_

_Everything dies- even little girl __storybook plans and dreams must end and_

_Give me the world, finally as it is_

_Not black and white, compromise as it is_

_Not wrong or right; pretty lies, as it is_

_Albert and me: little girl, foolish boy_

_Willing to live like a man who is willing to die _

_To justify a pretty lie_

* * *

><p>Life is complicated.<p>

That's what you learn when you grow up— it's not all nice and simple like your parents told you it was.

Those fairy tales you heard when you were five? Forget them; forget you ever heard about happy endings and the hero always coming out on top at the end of the day.

Everything they taught you is wrong; the world isn't fair and it isn't good.

There are no heroes. Not really.

The bedtime stories you remember are simplified half-truths told to keep society functioning. It's meant to make naïve children dream and wish that they were old enough to put on the armor so they could fight the dragons too.

There is no way that all of the problems and realities of life can be told in bedtime stories. They shouldn't be, either. Kids shouldn't have to realize that the world isn't worth living or dying for. What kind of a place would this world be if that happened?

The more you encourage them to dream though, the worse it is when they're finally disillusioned. It's a long fall from the top of the world…

I think that that's the biggest, most life-shattering lesson, that life is complicated. Once you finally grasp that, you're in the world of the mature adults; you can't go back to being a sweet innocent kid again.

That also makes it the hardest lesson to learn. You have to reconcile this harsh new reality with the knights and castles you've believed in all your life. You have to give up all of those pretty lies. It's not just like learning that unicorns don't exist or Santa isn't real. Those are minor issues; there are still horses and the Christmas presents don't stop coming. But you don't base your life on your belief in Santa, you base it on the fact that might equals right and that people are basically good. That fairy tale endings are possible. That you can actually achieve your dreams if you try hard enough.

When you are still a kid, you think that everything will work out alright. Things will be okay. That's what everyone tells you and you never have any reason to doubt them… You trust them because they've taught you everything else about the world. This shouldn't be any different. Not when it is actually the basis for your entire system of beliefs. It's the one thing that's actually important and shapes the course of your life. You should be able to believe them when they tell you how the world works.

They say that no one will ever try to hurt you; no one will stop you from doing what you've always dreamed.

Of course, everyone does what they are supposed to, trying to fulfill their duty faithfully and honourably. Responsibilities don't require sacrifices and people don't ask you to shoulder burdens that you cannot bear. Being the hero will always bring fame, money, and the girl at the end of the day.

You learn that everything fits into neat little categories. Things are black and white. Wrong and right. There is no space in between. There are good guys and bad guys. They don't ever mix or switch sides and they sure as heck don't join forces for any reason whatsoever.

The good guys never become the bad guys. The good guys don't fight other good guys.

That's what they tell us, our parents, our teachers, our books. Everyone says that life will be clear-cut and easy to understand.

.

But none of that is true, is it?

No.

Everything becomes more and more confused as you get older. The lines between morals begin to mesh and blur until they form a hundred shades of grey. Nothing is clear; there's always another way to look at it. There is no black and white anymore.

And all that stuff about the hero always winning? Ha. Tell that to the half-ghost bleeding his life out for you on the streets when his enemies come at him for the sixth time in a single night.

It's not true.

And if you are actually stupid enough to stick by those idiotic ideas about being the good guy and try to do what is right, you'll be rewarded by being hunted down by your own friends and family for the freak that you are. You have to isolate yourself from anyone you care about so that they won't be tortured, killed, or used as bait by crazed up fruitloops, just because they know you.

You can't afford to make mistakes because there is no way to go back in time to fix it.

There are no such things as second chances.

Heroes aren't praised or showered with gratitude for saving the lives of those around them time and time again. If the would-be-victims-but-for-you happen to glance your way, it is only to point an accusatory finger.

They don't care. So I don't even know why I bother.

I don't think that there really are any good guys. Their swords dull, their flashy badges tarnish, and their white hats get trampled in the dirt. People who try to be heroes mess up sometimes. They aren't infallible. Buildings collapse. Innocent people die. And I can't do anything to stop it, no matter how hard I try. Sometimes, I don't even want to try anymore. I just want to stop, give up the heroic antics, and let these ungrateful and enlightened adults deal with it all by themselves.

But that shouldn't ever be the case either, should it? The hero should never doubt themselves or the value of what they do. They have to stand up for what is right, no matter how hard it is.

Yeah, if that's what you think, you should try carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for a day and see where it gets you.

As you grow up, you begin to realize that the good guy isn't actually that different from the bad guy. They are like opposite sides of the same coin. A single flip of chance can make the hero topple from their hallowed pedestal. Sometimes it barely takes a nudge to make them fall. It really isn't that hard to corrupt the incorruptible.

And who is to say what right and wrong is anyway?

No one sticks by their values anymore. You can't.

In order to survive, you have to sell your soul to the devil, team up with your archenemy to live for another day. And that is when you learn that he isn't as different from you as you originally thought. Or perhaps you aren't as different from him anymore as he had imagined. You're slipping. And he's waiting for you to finally fall over the edge with a smile on his face.

That's what the real world is like. That's how it is. Compromise wherever you turn.

No, nothing is good, clear, or easy to understand in this world. And everything you were ever told to that effect was a big fat lie.

The world isn't beautiful, it's cruel.

The hero doesn't always win. He doesn't always try. He isn't always right.

And the world blames him whenever he isn't.

.

Is this what I grew up for? To live in a world where everyone waits for an opportunity to tear someone else to pieces?

Why did I bother? If I had known about all of this beforehand, I would have done everything I could to make sure I stayed a clueless kid forever.

Why would you shove me into this kind of a place? Give me this responsibility? You've turned me into Atlas before I even had a chance to graduate from high school!

Why would you make me fight for _it_—whatever _it_ is that's still worth fighting for—for this place, for you?

There's no point anyway.

Not anymore. Not now that I see what the world is really like.

Why did you have to make me grow up? Why did you have to teach me how the world really works? Why couldn't you have just left me alone and let me stay the happy disillusioned kid who still believed in all of those pretty lies?

The one who still thought that it was cool to be the hero.

.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah… and I think that is Danny's rant after a terrible, rotten, no good, very bad day. This is a mostly unedited rant as I wasn't expecting to write another piece for week one. Sorry that these have been so depressing. You would think that finishing finals would make me write stuff that's a bit happier, but I guess that starting a concentrated summer session with only a few days break isn't the most pleasant prospect. Haha.<strong>

**Would love to know what you thought. I'm not really sure how song-based fics are supposed to work... :)  
><strong>


	4. You Will Remember

**You Will Remember**

**Week Two: May 24, 2011**

.

Poe – "The Raven"

_Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,  
>And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.<em>

* * *

><p>The Ghost Writer absently picked up the manila envelope lying on the table—he hated papers being disorganized—and began to thumb through its contents to pass the time as he sat on the table and waited for his semi-quasi-pseudo-employer-slash-partner-slash-ward-slash-friend to come back from her break so they could resume their work.<p>

What he read on the page he had flipped to, however, immediately threw all other thoughts out the window. He did not care about their project anymore; he was mesmerized by the words in front of him, pouring over them again and again in the few minutes he had.

She soon returned, heading straight for her guitar, not even noticing that Ghost Writer had not followed her lead to take his usual station just off-stage. In fact, he had not even looked her way when she came back.

But as she turned to his usual place asking if he was ready to begin again, his empty chair was quite conspicuous. She rolled her eyes and set her guitar down.

Oh God. He had probably gotten lost in another Austen or Gaskell novel. She really worried about him sometimes…

But, no, she remembered that he had brought his Poe anthology with him today. At least that was a little better. She was still new to this whole being a ghost thing, but she was pretty sure that spooky rather than sappy was the way to go.

She saw him over in the break room, his nose stuck in a book, just as she suspected.

Great. Now she would have to drag him away from the _Raven_ or the _Tell-Tale Heart_. And she actually wanted to get some work done tonight…

She admired the guy, she really did, and she was grateful for all he had done and continued to do for her, but sometimes, he went a little overboard on the literature.

She walked over to him with a friendly scowl on her face, but froze when she recognized what was in his hands.

It was definitely not his Poe anthology.

In a flash, she had snatched the folder away from him, frantically rearranging its contents and closing it before glaring at the man, both angry and embarrassed.

He tried to stir himself out of his amazement to deal with the situation at hand, although it seemed to be a losing battle. He found that he was tongue-tied, although that probably was not the worst thing that could have happened to him at that moment. Perhaps it was even a good thing that he was unable to come back with a witty reply that would only enflame her more.

He knew from the past several months that the young ghost was easily ticked off and was not pleasant to deal with when she was upset and her hair was blazing bright blue.

Thankfully, he noted, she had not gained any ecto-rays or powers of that sort yet, but she was still in the critical development stage and any unbalance of emotions, especially when it came to her obsession, could set her off and trigger a new power.

It paid to be cautious while she was upset.

And right now she was positively _fuming_.

He understood that she had the right to be upset with him— he had looked through her private work, after all—but was thoroughly confused by the second emotion emanating from her.

Embarrassment when someone else saw your work? But was not that what it was for? To be read and adored by the world?

Hmm… maybe it was a new-ghost thing. That would explain why he did not understand it. Or it could be a girl thing. That too.

"Don't you _ever_ look through my stuff again!"

It was the first time that the meek ghost, who was currently leaning backwards before her wrath, had ever felt at all scared of the girl. He did not like the feeling and wondered for a moment what he had gotten himself into. Perhaps he should not have taken her under his wing. He had no idea what he was doing—gosh, it was practically like raising a kid—and this only proved that fact. And looking back, it probably was not the best idea to get caught up in that paper once he realized what it was. But there was no changing that now…

Ember continued to seethe as he blinked at her from behind his glasses, his mouth hanging open as he gaped, unable to coherently form any of the words he wanted to say.

"I… I don't understand…"

"Well let me fix that. This is mine." She shook the folder at him and spoke very slowly to accentuate every syllable. "It's private. And if you ever dare to look at its contents ever again without my permission first, my guitar penetrating your thick skull will be the last sound you ever hear."

He began to chuckle; that was not quite what he had meant to say. Goodness, his way with words was slipping today. But it was nothing he could not fix.

"No… not that… I understand it being your work… heh… writer and all… but, I don't understand why… why you asked me to come and work with you."

She blinked in surprise, obviously not expecting this seemingly abrupt change of subject.

She backed down from her aggressive stance and answered him it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because I need a lyricist."

"But you don't! That…" he waved at the folder tucked securely under her arm. "What I just read… that was… incredible." In a move that was completely out of character for him, he fumbled for words and began to gesture animatedly in order to make up for it. "Those were perfect lyrics. They were pure. They were poignant. They were powerful. And they were your own words!"

She stared at him without saying anything, so he continued.

"Sing those! You don't need me to come up with half baked lyrics for you. Not when you can come up with words like that."

Ember stood like she had either turned into a statue or had gone into an advanced state of shock. When she had not moved for nearly a full minute, he began to worry that he had said or done something very wrong. He had not thought so. But sometimes he did not do a very good job of thinking things through.

Then another thought struck him.

Maybe something was actually wrong with her. Maybe this was something that happened to new ghosts. He tried to recall if anything had happened to him back whenever he had found himself only a few months old in the Zone, but that was so long ago now that he found he could not recall if there were any side effects he should be remembering.

Panicking, he moved forward to see if she was alright and that motion finally seemed to break her out of whatever trance-like state she had entered.

"Ember?" He knew she responded better when people actually addressed her by her name and hoped it would help with whatever was going on. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" She blinked a few times before giving him a small, pained smile as she softly shook her head. "But I'll never be singing those words."

And… that was not what he was expecting to hear. At all.

He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow.

"Why ever not?"

She kept her eyes on the folder when she finally answered him with a whisper.

"Because it's me."

He was about to clarify what she meant by that quiet remark when she began walking toward the stage. As she turned to face him, he could tell by her stance and the look on her face that their discussion on that particular topic was over.

And he would be in a heck of a lot of trouble if he decided to continue talking.

She had already found that the fist setting on her guitar packed quite a punch and even his long experience as a ghost would not give him an edge over her since his only weapon was his typewriter. What could he do—write terrible song lyrics until she was forced to give up? Please; she would destroy the thing in less than ten seconds. At least, she thought so, anyway. Not that she had ever had reason to test that little theory before.

He was kind of her only friend and protector in the Zone so far. It probably would not be a good idea to get on his bad side by depriving him of his beloved writing utensil. That would also mean that he would not really be able to write for her until he found a replacement. Pen and paper just weren't his thing. And she definitely needed the lyrics he was giving her. If he did not have anything, she would need to sing what was on hand, and what was on hand was exactly what she did not want to make public.

Those lyrics were never meant to be sung. They were never meant to be seen by any eyes other than her own. That notebook was her escape, her therapy. Whenever she was having a rough day or remembered some melodic line that brought back memories of touring the country when she was alive and just couldn't take it anymore, she went to the notebook and poured out her heart and her soul.

Those words, that was her—ragged and raw. Untouched and uncensored. It was her story, her pain, her life.

There was no way that she could sing that in front of anyone.

Part of her was sort of secretly glad that he had seen and liked what she had written, but only sort of. She felt more… embarrassed, was it? She felt… exposed because he had seen the innermost workings of her being, the parts she never showed to anyone else. And never wanted to.

That was why she was not going to sing the lyrics that she had written there.

He just didn't understand…

She could tell just from looking at the expression on his face that he wanted to talk her out of her decision, but it was final, dammit. She knew what she was doing on this one. He could stop looking at her like she was a little kid because she was not going to change her mind.

But she was tired of glaring at him. She tried to reign in her emotions and salvage their amiable relationship. The morning had started out so well and getting some work done would clear both of their heads. "Let's just go over what you had, okay?"

Ghost Writer sighed and went to retrieve the lyrics he had written overnight.

She smiled tightly as she took them, but he just shook his head.

He was not one to readily admit it, but her lyrics trumped his a thousand times over. At least, for what she wanted to accomplish…

He had never been one for songwriting, preferring fiction or poetry. But if that first page was anything to go by, the girl was a natural at that sort of thing. Really, those lyrics were exactly what she was looking for. They would catapult her into the fame she desired.

Ever since he had first found her— what, three, four months ago now— wandering aimlessly through the Zone near his haunt, all she had wanted to do was become a star with adoring fans screaming her name. He saw that it was her obsession just as reading and writing was his.

And he remembered how lonely and confused he had been when he first found himself a ghost. If he was honest with himself, how lonely he still was. He had never become close with any of the few other ghosts with whom he came in contact. Their obsessions just had not meshed nor had their personalities clicked.

But he found himself intrigued by this new blue-haired diva. Obviously ready for a life of fame, but still unsure of her way in the afterlife. And she too had an interest in the written word, albeit she was interesting in vocalizing it while he wanted to keep in on the page, but still, they were much closer in interests than he had expected. And her youthful energy balanced out his laidback, almost timid manner. They complimented each other well and he had enjoyed helping her through the snags of ghostdom and getting to know her during the jam sessions she had made him come to.

She had been so sure and so ready to start practicing for her Zone-wide tour that he could not bear to say no when she asked for his help. He provided the lyrics and support while she provided the music.

That dream to be the name on everyone's lips was all she talked about during their breaks. When they stayed through the night in her newly found studio—it was not like they really had anything else to be doing anyway—and he scratched away on his own promptings, she would sit backwards on a chair with her arms resting on the back or leaning against a table strumming her guitar lightly. Her eyes would sparkle and shine as she talked to no end about the rush from a standing ovation. She was practically as giddy as a little girl. He would smile, nod, and pretend to understand what she meant while he was only half-listening as he tried to jot down a few semi-formed sentences.

So she should be jumping at the chance to perform anything that was remotely decent. She was already a good singer; anything that halfway complimented her voice would get her far.

Those words in that folder, they would absolutely make her in the Zone. They would give her that human thrill she was seeking, the audience, the lights, the fame. They would fulfill her dream; give her a handle on her obsession.

They would make people remember who she was.

But she shied away from the merest suggestion of singing those perfect lyrics like it burned her.

Ghost Writer just shook his head and he went to take his seat beside the stage and got ready to listen to another few hours of his words set to her guitar music.

He just didn't understand…

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, DPSG1 swears that someone was reading <em>The Raven<em> when they came up with Ember's character. After her comment, I couldn't do anything else with the prompt! Haha. **

**Not perhaps what you were expecting, and although I like the premise, I'm kinda indifferent about how this one turned out, but hopefully you enjoyed it. Please review to let me know what you think.**


	5. Animal

**Animal**

**Week Two: May 26, 2011**

"Man, I can't believe we're actually doing this," Tucker said as he hoisted a box full of posters onto the table and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Danny followed suit with a complaint of his own. "I know. After that rally freshman year, I said that I was never going to go to a protest again."

"And yet, here you both are." Sam said as she walked up from behind them.

Groans from both boys.

"You can stop gloating any time now, Sam," Tucker pointed out.

"I know," she said, very pleased with herself.

"I swear, I don't know how I let you talk me into this." Danny told Sam as he began to unpack his box.

"Oh, come on, Danny. You'd do anything Sam wanted you to and everyone knows it. Even Sam." He looked over at her and saw her grinning. "Scratch that— especially Sam. You barely even put up a fight when she asked you to ditch school to help her set this all up. She's completely taking advantage of you and your heroic nature."

"That's right!" She confirmed.

"Sam, that sounded way too perky for a Goth," Tucker said.

"I am just in a good mood today. Don't expect it to become habitual or anything."

"And what has you in such a good mood?" He continued their banter.

"I am saving poor defenseless and innocent creatures from the mindless destruction of their habitats in order to put up shopping malls that only serve to instill and confirm the conventionality and non individuality of the female population at large, molding them into mindless drones of shallow witches like Paulina. What more can I ask for on a Tuesday morning?"

"Well, I can think of a few things…" Eyebrows waggled above thick glasses frames.

"Shut it, Tuck. Just… go put up this poster somewhere over there."

"Slaves. That's all we are. After all those years of false friendship, she finally shows her true colors. I'm devastated!" the boy wailed, milking the scene for all it was worth.

Danny and Sam smiled at Tucker's antics.

"Well," Sam said as she started unpacking a box of recyclable wrist bands to hand out at the entrance once the things started, "at least you're helping to run the thing instead of just attending. That's got to count for something."

"Yeah," Danny started under his breath. "Because I always wanted to be pegged as the guy who skipped during the last week of his high school career to 'save the frogs.'"

"And what is wrong with that title, may I ask?" Sam rounded on him with a glare.

"Nothing!" he quickly put out his hands in a move meant to help placate the girl and defend himself from her boots.

"You're darn right there's nothing wrong with saving frogs from a horrible death."

"Even when you take them all back to your room and consequently get in trouble with your parents and the police?" Tucker interrupted.

Sam rolled her eyes. "It was only until I could arrange to integrate them back into their natural habitat. It's not like I was just going to let them all die, Tucker. What else could have done anything else with them?"

"See," Danny said, "saving frogs from dissection and certain death, that's your thing and I don't want to intrude. It would be like treading upon your all hallowed individuality if I did it too."

"You're just scared of being labeled by the A-list."

"Well, there are a whole lot worse names to be called, you know." Tucker added with a sly grin. "You could be pegged as Inviso-Bill."

"Yeah, trust you to go and bring that up again. Geez." Danny scoffed. "No one's called Phantom that in years."

"Yeah, but the number one rule in blackmail is to never voluntarily give up on any embarrassing name, no matter how long ago it was used. It will eventually come in handy again."

"You got that right, _Bad Luck Tuck_." Sam laughed as she accentuated each word.

"Hey! I resent that, ya' lovebird."

"We are not lovebirds!"

There was an embarrassed silence and Sam's cheeks grew considerably more and more flushed as she and Tucker realized that Danny had not added his voice to the denial.

"Danny?"

His eyes were focused on the posters he was holding and there was a far-off, pensive look on his face.

She didn't think that he had even heard what Tucker had said…

Sam stepped a little closer, tentatively.

"Danny?"

"You know, it's at times like this when I almost envy the frogs."

The odd remark made Tucker burst out laughing and completely forget that he was about to tease the daylights out of Danny for not denying his affections for Sam.

Even Sam smirked at what Danny had said.

"Why, because then a princess would come along to kiss you and turn you into a handsome prince?"

Tucker was still laughing when he came up with his own comeback. "Ah, but I don't think that even Princess Samantha could actually do anything for his looks."

Sam blushed but wasn't able to tell him off for including her name- her _full_ name, to make it worse- and the word 'princess' in the same sentence before Danny replied.

"Ha ha, Tucker, very funny."

"No problem, man. Any time."

But Sam was curious, then, as to why Danny had seemed so upset by the teasing. Could it be that he had somehow actually meant what he had said?

She looked at him sideways and started cautiously. "But, really, why would you want to be a frog?"

"Because…" Danny stepped closer to Sam and surprised her by taking her hands in his and turning her toward him, the look on his face somehow whimsical and serious at the same time.

She looked startled, and her eyes flicked back and forth from the box she was unpacking to Danny's hands over hers to his incredibly blue eyes.

She licked her lips nervously, not knowing what was coming.

He seemed to wait forever and she was breathing quite shallowly and her face was sporting a rosy tinge when he finally said,

"Because then… you would want to save me."

* * *

><p>So, my first fluffy ending. How did it go? What needs work?<p>

Oh, and DPSG1, this is your surprise prize for your most epic weather-related comment over Skype (if you even remember it now- haha). XD Yeah, that's right, I came up with something for you on "Animal". Sorry it's fluffy (I know how much you're currently enamored with it) and so weird, but I had to come up with something quickly while staying away from… other stuff. :P


	6. Assay

**NOTE:** Set soon after Micro Management, the episode where Dash and Phantom are shrunk

* * *

><p><strong>Assay<strong>

**Week Three: June 3, 2011**

_~ To try, attempt; analyze the nature of; judge the worth of ~_

* * *

><p>The first weird thing was that even though he slept through his alarm and his ghost sense went off in the middle of his hurried bowl of cereal, Danny was able to make it to school on time for class, running through the door breathless just before the bell rang.<p>

The second weird thing was that Sam and Tucker, who had gone ahead without him when he didn't meet them at their usual corner or call for help, were smirking about something and refused to answer his questions about it. Well, Tucker was smirking. Sam looked like a strange mixture of perturbed, amused, and thoroughly annoyed.

He still had no clue what had caused their attitudes, though, and he was not about to pass notes while sitting in the front row of Lancer's English class. If he had somehow miraculously missed getting a detention, he wasn't going to beg for one. He would find out what this was all about after class, or at lunch.

The next weird thing was that when passing through the halls, he noticed several people actually going out of their way to meet his eye or offer a greeting. Not just fellow outcasts, either, but some of them were minor A-listers. He looked to Sam and Tucker for guidance, but they gave him nothing but those smiles which were starting to  
>become seriously annoying.<p>

Then Kwan complimented him on his choice of clothing. He stopped and looked down to see if there was something wrong, or if he had somehow put on his super-expensive and totally-not-worth-it gangsta clothes without realizing it, but nope, he was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans that he did every day.

When he went to say a timid and confused 'thanks,' he saw that Kwan was wearing red converses and a black shirt with his symbol on it. Well, that was new. But he disappeared down the hallways before Danny had recovered enough to question him about it.

After that encounter, he started to notice other people wearing similar attire until he couldn't imagine how he missed seeing so many Phantom P-Ds or red ovals on his way to class that morning. It was starting to feel like déjà vu of Dash's party that one time...

Speak of the devil...

Dash sauntered up with a huge grin on his face. Danny flinched, expecting his regular whaling session to commence. Expecting anything else, really, except for Dash to compliment him on his outfit. He noticed then that Dash, too, of course, in keeping with the rest of this overly weird day, was similarly dressed. He still had no clue how to respond.

"Umm... thanks? I guess. But this is what I always wear..."

Dash got the strangest look on his face. It got all scrunched up and he looked almost like he was in pain.

Oh. Dash was _thinking_...

After the painful ordeal was over: "Then I just have one question for you, Fento—" he paused and made an effort to not continue with one of his usual nicknames, but somehow managed to call him by nothing more nor less than regular 'Fenton'.

Danny swallowed heavily, very thrown off by everything that was happening.

"Yeah, Dash?"

"Just how did you know what Phantom likes to wear?"

* * *

><p>Here you go, Ashe! :) We were talking over Memorial Day weekend about how the people in Amity Park should have known Danny's double identity several times over with all of the slips he makes over the course of the show, this episode being the most obvious in my opinion.<p>

**IF YOU WERE CONFUSED**: Sorry. :P I'm not going to rewrite the chapter, but let me try to explain what has happened: In _Micro Management_, Dash sees Phantom change into red shoes, blue jeans, a black shirt with his DP symbol, and finally, Danny's customary red oval shirt. Wanting to emulate his hero, Dash passes the word around to the A-listers, and soon, most of the people at Casper High are wearing those same things. When Dash finds out that it is what Danny has always worn... he begins to connect the dots, so he refrains from calling Danny a derogatory nickname as he tries in his ever-so-sneaky way to figure out how the loser Fenton knows the ghost boy. So it's a silly, almost-revelation oneshot? or something.


	7. Fireworks

**Fireworks**

July 4, 2011

Happy Fourth of July!

* * *

><p>No one knew who did it every year.<p>

Most people weren't that interested in finding out, figuring that an especially dedicated family who created a fireworks display rivaling that the city sponsored and funded was to be congratulated for their ingenuity no matter who they were.

At first, a few curious people asked around. Fewer tried to trace the actual origin of the light show but those brave souls were always unable to pinpoint a launching location. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, lighting up the sky in a brilliant display that trumped those set off by the football field.

The people who cared to know finally concluded that the people lighting these independent fireworks traveled to a different empty lots every year to both create the affect and avoid publicity.

And they accepted that. Some things were sweeter when done anonymously.

So, after several years had passed, the citizens of Amity decided that it didn't really matter who their mysterious July Fourth benefactor was.

Everyone sat back together and admired their lights.

Families would gather forty minutes early (for the beginning of the city's fireworks) in order to get good seats for the mystery show. Eventually, the city council realized that the tax-funded fireworks took the backseat on Independence Day and, after being ignored one year when the two shows conflicted, took pains after that to not start until after the other display had concluded.

The city councilmen hated the week after their fireworks, because they were inundated with requests to take lessons from whoever set off the other show. Not only could they not do that, considering that they had no idea who they were supposed to be taking lessons from, but it was extremely humiliating to be shown up by what they considered to be amateurs.

No, every year Amity Park refused to do anything but set off a normal, traditional firework show from the high school, complete with accompaniment from the marching band.

But every year the populace looked forward not to those, but to the mysterious ghostly green blasts that shot across the sky.

* * *

><p>No prompt. No editing. But I hope you had a great Independence Day! Our fireworks were fabulous this year. :D<p> 


	8. Who I Am

**Man, I didn't mean for updating to take this long. It doesn't make sense that I am busier at home over the summer than I was at college…**

**This story is a response to Skatooneyfan1234's challenge, but since the song DPSG1 picked out also applies, I figured that I would stick it in this collection of challenges. A little double-dipping never hurt anyone, right?**

* * *

><p><strong>Who I Am<strong>

**Week Two: July 1, 2011**

.

_Who I Am Hates Who I've Been_ by Reliant K

.

~ I'm sorry for the person I became / I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change / I'm ready to make sure I never become that way again / cuz who I am hates who I've been / who I am hates who I've been / I talk to absolutely no one / couldn't keep to myself enough / and the things bottled inside / have finally begun to create so much pressure that I'd soon blow up ~

.

Challenge by Skatooneyfan1234

* * *

><p>Danny yawned. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Sam…" he said, failing to cover his mouth before the yawn had run its course.<p>

"Late night?" she asked knowingly.

"Yeah, I had a false alarm last night, or this morning, I don't even know, but sometime, and I was out looking for it for more than an hour..."

"Well, how about we split up? You take the way to Fenton Works and I'll take the area to my house." She cut him off as he began to stop her. "No, don't interrupt; I'll be fine. It's been an easy patrol. We were going to call it a night in just a bit anyway."

He looked at her skeptically. "If you're sure…"

She smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine."

"Alright." He flashed her a smile before yawning again. "You're the best!"

"Don't I know it?"

"See ya tomorrow!"

"Yeah. 'Night!"

He sped off.

Sam smiled after him for a moment before continuing on her way.

As she began the trip home, she felt a wave of cold air waft by her, sending a chill down her spine. She shrugged it off as an aftermath of Danny flying away. Things had certainly changed once he'd fully exhibited his ice core.

The feeling kept on growing as she went down the street, however, until she was looking over her shoulder every few seconds by the time she had gone another two blocks. She was starting to regret telling Danny to leave—she would really have appreciated an escort home—but there was no help for it now. He was probably home by now and, in a run of horrendously rotten luck, neither of them had been carrying their cell phones that night.

She tightened her grip on the thermos and walked as quickly as she could without running, suddenly having no other thought than of getting home to her haven of candle-lit darkness and silk sheets.

She shivered violently.

She had finally gotten so worked up that she was about to break out into a pure sprint when she felt something cold enveloping her arm from behind.

She couldn't help it—she screamed.

She wouldn't have thought that she would be one to scream, and she had never done it during a ghost attack, but then again, she had never been grabbed by some unknown and freakishly cold entity from a dark alleyway while she had worked herself up into such a paranoid state.

The force of the abrupt stop made her whirl around and whatever it was that had grabbed her used the momentum to its advantage to spin her toward it and clamp one of those cold, cold hands over her mouth to stifle her scream.

It started what was almost a sort of hissing in her ear, and it frightened her, making her twist away from the massive arms instead of being reassured by the soft words she recognized them to be a moment later.

Her heart was still pounding, but she realized that whoever or whatever had grabbed her was still and silent and had relaxed its hold upon her. If it had wanted to mug, kill, or rape her, it would have made a move by now.

This logic took a while to filter through her brain, but eventually, she gathered up the courage to turn around and look at the being who had grabbed her, despite her growing paranoia that it would be some hideously disfigured thing with glowing eyes and a nasty ectoplasmic punch.

It was almost completely hidden in the shadows by the time she had turned round to face it, but there was still enough light from a streetlamp around the corner to recognize a shock of white hair.

She heaved a sigh of relief. It was Danny. Then, that feeling quickly turned into annoyance and indignation. He had told her some phony story about being tired so that he could prank her in the dark on her way home? So not cool.

"Danny…"

The figure moved in surprise and she was able to see that the figure was quite tall. Taller than Danny. Then too, those arms that had grabbed her were a lot bigger and stronger than she remembered Danny's being.

She froze as the realization hit her.

"You're… you're not Danny." She somehow managed to get out.

There was a soft, almost nervous chuckle from the shadows in front of her.

"No. No, I'm not."

She had not expected to hear _that_ tone in the thing's reply, nor a voice that was so utterly hopeful and apologetic at the same time. She peered forward, her interest piqued.

The figure slowly moved forward so that he was a little more illuminated from the streetlamp around the corner, at least, enough for Sam to get her first decent look at the guy, who didn't seem to be much older than herself. Still couldn't make out much of his clothes or appearance other than the white hair. But then she looked at his face… and her jaw dropped.

"No way." She breathed before moving closer. "Is that… are you… really…" she paused, unable to fathom that this could actually be who she thought it was.

"Gregor?"

"Elliot, actually. I haven't been Gregor since I left Amity."

As this turn of events registered in her mind, Sam's thoughts turned from shock and surprise to linger on the events that made Gregor, or Elliot, leave Amity Park several months ago. It was something that she had utterly refused to think about or deal with since that time and she was dealing with the consequences of leaving it alone now. All of the emotions poured over her and through her until she was overwhelmed.

The budding crush she felt for him, so different from what she felt for Danny. The bubbly feeling of being admired by him for who she was: a Goth, independent and unique.

The anger at Danny for spying on her and trying to sabotage the relationship that she wanted to work by claiming that he was working for the GIW.

The utter loss and confusion when he revealed himself for the jerk he was. The pain and depression and feeling of emptiness in the weeks after he was gone.

The feelings that never quite left. The feelings that she never should have felt in the first place.

She knew what he was, what he really was: nothing but a jerkish, self-centered, money-snatching, girl-hungry fake that took advantage of her and stole her first kiss.

So why was she so conflicted now that he was standing in front of her again?

She stood stock still, so absorbed in her thoughts until Elliot became worried that she had gone into shock at seeing him or something. Perhaps grabbing her in the middle of the night wasn't the best idea, especially given the circumstances under which they had parted.

He waved his hand in front of her face but she didn't even see it. After hesitating, he reached out and touched her arm, hoping for a response. He got one; Sam jerked away from him and stepped back, eying him warily.

How dare he touch her… after all that had happened, both tonight and before?

She didn't like it when he touched her. Not now. It reminded her of all that they had shared together when they were dating and what she had missed since. It made her confused.

She didn't know whether to punch him and run, or hug him and go back to where they had left off, giving him a second chance.

And why on earth would she want that after everything he'd done? It made no sense.

None of this made sense- why was he even here? He had left Amity Park not wanting to have anything to do with any of them anymore. So why was he back here now, in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night, grabbing her out of the street? Surely, he couldn't have meant to get just anyone, he wanted her. But what on earth for? And how could he expect that she would be okay with him just showing back up again? If he had had any experience with girls in the past (and she could bet her entire share of her toothpick fortune that she wasn't his first scam), he should have known that she was not going to be all hunky-dory with him coming back out of the blue.

Her head was starting to reel with all of the directions her frantic thoughts were taking.

"What is going on? Why are you here? What do you want with me?" she licked her lips and sighed, frustrated.

He was somewhat taken aback by her manner, but he supposed he couldn't really expect anything less considering what he had done to her. Maybe coming to her for help hadn't been his brightest idea… but then again, it was the only one he had. There was really nowhere else he could go… so he might as well answer her… with the truth this time…

He sighed, preparing to launch into his story, but then looked around, suddenly nervous that someone would be around to overhear them.

"Can we move somewhere else?"

She looked at him suspiciously, so he expounded, "it's just that, well, I don't want anyone else to somehow see or hear…"

"Elliot…" His real name. Not the one she had called him when she liked him. Her tone was curt and clipped, demanding. "I am not moving until you explain what is going on. You can't just pull me into an alleyway in the middle of the night without giving me an explanation." For this, and everything else…

"Look, you don't understand…"

"I know that I don't understand. Which is why you are going to explain. Here. And now. Or I will leave."

"Okay, okay. I'm here because… I don't really know where else to go."

"Go back home to Minnesota or Michigan or wherever it was you haunt."

He cringed, suddenly aware of how well that description would fit him now.

"I… I can't go back there."

"And why not?"

"Well, that's just my problem. They'll find me if I go back home." He was working himself up more with each passing second. "They have the address, that's how they found me in the first place and I can't go back, I can't go back to them, Sam!"

"Wait a second, hold up, just, hold up. Who will find you and why do they want to find you and why can't you go back? Are… are the police after you? Did some girl finally turn you in for what you played with her?"

"No! No, nothing like that. Oh God. You aren't going to understand." He suddenly became even more frantic. "You aren't going to understand at all. You aren't going to believe me unless I show you and then you'll turn me in. Oh God. Oh God…"

"Elliot… Elliot! Calm down, okay? I can't understand you if you don't tell me what's going on. I promise that I'll at least listen to what you have to say."

This seemed to placate him. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths. "I'm so sorry…" Sam wondered what he was sorry about, freaking out or lying to her, but he continued talking without specifying so she did not find out. "Okay, I came to you because you live here with all of the ghosts and crazy supernatural things so I thought that you might believe me, and help me, even after I… okay, well, you remember that night? That last night? Of course you do, stupid question. Okay, you remember how the Guys in White thought I was Phantom?"

"Yeah, until Phantom actually showed up and saved your life."

"Yeah, well, apparently, they still thought that I was connected with Phantom even though I wasn't him. And they heard me shout my name and where I lived and well, there were agents waiting for me when I finally managed to get back."

Sam was speechless. If this was going where she thought it was going…

"They… interrogated you?" She hoped that that was all it was. But why would he be so scared of telling her that? Had they tortured him for information on Phantom? What had he said? And what did he even know to tell them? Or had he made up a story to placate them? A story involving Danny and Tucker…?

"They did more than interrogate me…"

That was exactly what she didn't want to hear. Oh God, what had they done? What had _he_ done?

"What…?"

"They did a bunch of tests…"

Tests.

It hadn't been anything like interrogations. Of course not. How could she have assumed? The Guys in White shot first and asked questions later. Or experimented first and asked questions never. They had performed tests on Elliot thinking that he was somehow related to Phantom. Such a simple sentence left out all of the gruesome details that she knew were there. She couldn't even imagine what had gone on behind the pristine walls of their headquarters.

"And now… I don't know what to do or where to go. I know that you know about the Guys in White so you might have an idea and you believe in ghosts so you might believe in this."

"What? Believe in what? What happened, Elliot? What did they do to you?"

He looked at her with a pained expression on his face. He wanted to show her. He _needed_ to show her. He needed someone to see and understand. But if he showed her, how could she not run away screaming? Seeing ghosts, fighting ghosts was one thing, but seeing someone actually...

He decided that it was worth it to tell her, even if there was a chance that she would abandon him. He could understand it. But he would try, anyway.

He should try to explain things first, though, prepare her a bit.

"They were running tests assuming that I had some ghostly properties already in me. I was exposed to stuff that they had to wear suits to even look at." He swallowed, heavily, as he tried to keep the recounting as simple as possible so he would not get lost in the awful memories. Sam stood still, hanging on his every word. "And, uh," he tried to laugh, "it had some, uh, some weird effects on me."

He waited for her response, wondering how she was going to take this.

Her mind was already racing, trying to imagine the possibilities of such an experience. If he had been exposed to a concentrated amount of ghostly ectoplasm, could it… could it be possible that he was another halfa?

"What… do… do you have ghostly qualities?"

He nearly choked— a pained sound that seemed too loud for the quiet night. "Close. Very close. It shows a lot when I trigger it or I'm around a lot of ectoplasm… but I'm not a ghost! I'm not. It's kind of like that, but it's different. You know, I am more… it's kind of like… oh God why am I even trying to explain? I should just show you."

Sam nodded.

"But… you have to promise not to freak out or run away or turn me in. You have to swear that you won't turn me in!"

"I wouldn't, Elliot. I would never turn anyone in to the Guys in White."

"Okay. You stay there so you don't feel trapped when I… do my thing. I always stay in control and I wouldn't hurt you. So please, please don't run away."

He would have come forward and grabbed her arms to emphasize his point but Sam stiffened and took the smallest step backward as he began to do so. Grabbing her arms would not have advanced his cause. Even though she had pulled away from him, however, she held her ground and answered with what he wanted to hear.

"I won't."

"Okay. Okay…" He took a deep breath to ready himself and then stepped back into the shadows, turning his back to her.

For a minute, nothing happened.

Then, he began to groan. There were no lights like there were at Danny's transformation, so she couldn't tell what was happening, but she could definitely hear everything. And it didn't sound good.

Even though he was trying his hardest to keep the noise level down, so as to not attract attention from any random passers-by and also to not scare the living daylights out of Sam—she had said that she wouldn't run, but better safe than sorry, the thought—he couldn't contain some of the groans. It simply hurt too much.

He noted with a bit of pride, however, that it was becoming easier to go through this whole rigmarole with every transformation. It still hurt like heck as his muscles spasm-ed and contracted uncontrollably, but he knew what to expect and he certainly wasn't yelling like a banshee like the had the first time in the lab... Still, it probably didn't sound pretty.

He clenched his jaw as a new wave of spasms spread through his muscles, stretching them past their elasticity point so that they hung lax and useless around his bones until they filled and became taut to push out again, this time even further.

Soon, he was left panting; holding onto the brick wall for support, but it was done.

Sam waited apprehensively for him to reveal… whatever else was different about him. Whatever it was, it was certainly not anything like what happened to Danny when he went ghost.

"Elliot?" she asked quietly.

The figure jerked a little, as if just then remembering that someone was there watching him. With a noticeable effort, he forced his breathing to become normal again and then straightened.

Sam's eyes had become a little more accustomed to the darkness of the alley during the course of this whole adventure. Somehow, though, her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. He seemed taller, bigger. She could vaguely see him, but was even more aware of a… presence that was larger than life.

And then that shivering was back too, that same feeling that had made her look over her shoulder and want to sprint home. Not quite as strong as before, but definitely pulling at her enough to make her extremely uncomfortable. It was all she could do to keep herself from back up and out of the alley, keep herself from turning and running. But she was not going to do that. She had promised the guy that she would stay and she kept her promises. Even if she didn't want to.

Elliot took a step closer, very slowly. As he inched forward, he whispered what he hoped were encouraging words. He didn't even know what they were, but he knew that he didn't want to startle Sam into running away. That was the last thing he wanted. Especially since she had actually agreed to hear him out and see this thing through. And boy... what she was going to see...

The Elliot who stepped into the pale light in front of her was very different from the boy with whom she had been talking just a minute before.

He was definitely taller. By perhaps a foot or more. And bigger, much bigger. His chest and arms had swelled with muscle until they practically filled what she now saw must have been a baggy black sweatshirt and ragged pair of pants. His button-up shirt and vest of a few months ago certainly wouldn't have held up through the change.

His white hair appeared grayish, long, and tangled and the skin that wasn't covered by what should have been massively over-sized clothes was pale and drawn. It appeared to be a dead shade of white, very visible even in this poor light. It was sickly and she could see the veins standing out in high contrast, thumping in his temples with a sickly green.

Her hand flew to cover her mouth and stifle a small squeak when she finally realized what she was seeing.

Elliot was an ectoplasmically mutated Hulk!

"Oh God..." was all she said.

* * *

><p><strong>So, how did I do? Not a plot twist that I would normally work with, but the premise intrigued me. Skatooneyfan1234's challenge was: "GregorElliot is accidentally exposed to some toxic compound and is able to turn himself into a Hulk-like monster!" I planned for it to be funny, but it mutated into this dramatic introspective and emotional thing focused almost entirely on Sam. **

**Also, this span of events was only supposed to be the beginning of the story, but I don't really know where to go from here. This _is_ a decent stopping place. It's certainly long enough… :P But if you have ideas, I might pick this back up at some point.  
><strong>


	9. Blessed Ghost

**So here it is. I worked on this piece forever... you can see from the date that the bulk of it was written in June and here we are now in August, but for all my reworking, it doesn't seem to be getting longer or better, so I am giving up and officially posting it as-is. :P **

**Hope you enjoy. :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Blessed Ghost<strong>

**Week Three: June 20, 2001**

.

S.T. Coleridge – "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

_I moved, and could not feel my limbs:  
>I was so light -almost<br>I thought that I had died in sleep,  
>And was a blessed ghost.<em>

* * *

><p>Maddie woke with a start, her heart racing as she gasped for breath. She was dizzy and couldn't really feel her limbs. Everything was far too light... She put her hands beside her to steady herself, but they didn't land on anything.<p>

She stopped.

That didn't make any sense.

How could her hand not land on anything? She was right here in bed, comfortably situated atop several mattresses. There should be those old striped sheets crumpled in her fist right now... except they weren't.

After blinking several times, she looked down to find out why this was the case, only to wish she hadn't. The bed was there, yes...

Five feet below her.

She did the obvious thing and panicked.

A small scream accompanied her flailing arms and she twisted around in the air as she completely lost her balance. But she didn't fall. She remained hovering over the bed with her still-sleeping husband in his fuzzy pink pajamas just a few feet below her.

Thank goodness he was a heavy sleeper. Heaven only knows what he would do if he found his wife floating mid-air. She gulped. He would have the Bazooka out before she could say "ghost!"

Calming herself, she finally found her equilibrium as she lay in a very undignified spread-eagle position. Slowly, she adjusted until she was more or less sitting in the air.

This was all just too bizarre. Why on earth was she floating? What had happened to her?

She ran through a mental checklist, trying to figure it out. She hadn't gotten caught by any of their inventions.

None of the food had been glowing, well not more than usual, and anyway, Jack and the kids had eaten everything she did and they certainly weren't floating. At least, Jack wasn't, but perhaps, she mused, it would take a lot more of the stuff in order to make him start floating. She didn't know about Jazz and Danny yet. Oh, she should check on them...

Now she just had to figure out how to move...

It shouldn't be that difficult, really, you just, you know, move. You think about it or something. But that didn't do much. She smiled wryly. Self teleportation was not an ability granted via glowing food even if floating-slash-flying was.

Huh, she stopped. Was this flying? _Could_ she fly, or was she doomed to merely float? Well, it would certainly be fun to fly. But how to actually activate the motion?

An idea passed through her head and despite how embarrassing it was, it was the only one she had at the moment so she acted on it.

Stretching out into a Superman position, she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for all that she was worth that one: she would get somewhere with all this and two: that no one would ever know to what lengths she had gone to figure this out.

It didn't seem like it was working, though; there was no air rushing past her face and she still felt like she was lying on nothing. She sighed. So much for that idea.

Next she tried swimming, doing the breaststroke through the air and feeling utterly ridiculous as she did the whole thing with the frog legs while only moving forward and inch or two at a time. At least she was moving now; that was the upside, she supposed.

She took a look at Jack, still snoring on the bed. He looked so different from up in the air. Everything did. It was like she was in an entirely different room. And... was that... her tin of peppermint fudge on top of the bureau? She shook her head, chuckling.

As she looked forward again, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and would have started laughing at how silly she looked if she hadn't realized then what was wrong.

She did a double take. Then a triple take.

No. No, that couldn't be right.

Staring back at her from the mirror was a woman with buttery skin, golden hair, and a pale but glowing orange body suit. It was as if her normal attire had completely inverted colors. Even her goggles, normally an orange-ish red were now a bright, bright blue, almost the color of Danny's eyes. But what did that even mean? And how on earth had that happened?

She would have blamed the mirror, said that it had ecto-contaminants in it, except that nothing else in the reflection had changed from its normal color. Just her.

And then... she was glowing.

Holy— she was glowing! She looked just like a ghost.

That was the last straw.

Floating she could handle, having her suit inverted was fine, but looking like a ghost? She hunted ghosts. She couldn't _be_ one!

Thinking back through all of her lectures in college, all of the theories she and Jack had worked on, she tried to make sense of it all, explain it somehow. She couldn't actually be a ghost unless she had a particularly painful death—and since she couldn't remember even dying, she doubted that it was painful enough to give her an automatic pass to ghost-dom—or unless she had a lot of unfinished business...

Well, that made her stop because she did. She had plenty of unfinished business with that ghost boy. And trying to rid Amity Park of the specters that haunted it... and all of her unfinished projects with Jack... and yes, come to think about it, she had plenty of unfinished business.

Geez— no wonder she was a ghost.

It came at her like a smack across the face. She had been obsessed with ghosts while she was alive. Now... was she doomed to be obsessed with them now that she was... dead? Become a ghost ghost, doomed to hate and obsess over the very thing that she had become.

She didn't feel particularly ghostly. She just felt like Maddie... hovering in the air.

But she wasn't a human any more. That's what the data told her. She couldn't really still be alive and exhibit the symptoms of a ghost, the glowing, the floating. Humans were alive without these qualities and ghosts were dead with them. There was no in between. It was scientifically impossible. She was dead. And she was a ghost—the very thing that she had hunted all her life.

Did that mean... if she really was a ghost... she was as evil as every other ghost out there? Was she nothing more than an evil manifestation of ectoplasm? That was the definition of a ghost, but surely she was something more. There had to be something more. She wasn't evil. She hadn't changed. She was herself still, just... a little dead.

She didn't feel like destroying anything and she didn't even have an urge to scare anyone. She didn't want to blast Jack for snoring or make Bearbert float through Jazz's room or say boo while floating invisibly by Danny's ear.

No, none of that appealed to her at all. She just wanted to be normal again. Oh good Lord, she didn't want to be dead. She didn't want to be a ghost. Ghosts were evil and she wasn't evil. She wasn't...

She was so lost in some form of shock that she didn't hear the door creak open or the footsteps or whispers coming into the room. She didn't turn around until she heard a soft beeping and the hum of one of her ghost weapons warming up.

"Jazz? Danny?"

They looked up at her with wide eyes, surprised and suspicious. They both carried one of the deadly weapons that she had always hoped they would want to wield. But did they have to choose now to start taking an interest in what she had said? Why, oh why did it have to be tonight?

Jazz took the lead, overprotective of her brother as always. "Who are you?"

She was shocked and her mouth hung open for a minute. Did they really not recognize her? Had she really changed that much? She didn't think so... just different colors, a little bit of a glow... and the fact that she was hovering in the air... but she still looked the same.

"It's your mother. Maddie Fenton."

Danny lowered his weapon, looking very uncomfortable with the whole situation. It would have made Maddie's heart soar if the movement wasn't counterbalanced by Jazz's insistence on making her aim more accurate.

"You're not Mom. You're just some malignant ectoplasmic residue. And we're going to have to send you back to the Ghost Zone where you belong!"

"No! Please, look, I swear, I'm not an evil ghost. I just woke up like this. I think I ate something that glowed too much last night."

"Hey, Mom's cooking isn't that bad!" Jazz defended quickly. A pause. "And you don't fool us."

"But I'm not trying to fool you. I'm your mother. I don't want this any more than you do. I just want to figure out what's going on."

"Rule number one of ghost hunting: all ghosts are evil. Do not be distracted by their pleas of innocence."

"But I'm not evil!"

She couldn't believe it. Her own daughter was turning a blind eye to what was in front of her. What happened to her belief in going through all of the evidence, not jumping to conclusions, giving everyone a chance, that maybe not all ghosts were evil?

"I'm not evil, Jazz-sweetie."

Her daughter's glare hardened and so she turned to her son, glowing tears streaming down her face.

"Danny? You believe me don't you?"

"Rule number two of ghost hunting: ghosts don't feel emotion, but they show it to trick humans. Don't be deceived. Don't listen to it, Danny."

"I'm not an 'it', I'm your mother. Now, please, just don't shoot and help me get down to the lab and maybe we can find something that will reverse all of this."

"Ha! The Lab. Of course that's just where you want us to take you. Right to the center of all our family's equipment and experiments. There's no way I'm letting you get your hands on those, spook!"

"Jazz, maybe this isn't such a great idea."

That's it, Danny. That's my boy.

"Maybe... we should wake Dad up. He'll know what to do."

Oh no. That was not good. Jack, though she loved him dearly, shot first and ate fudge later.

"No, no! Don't wake up Jack. Not yet. I don't want him to see me like this."

"Aha. That's rule number three: find out a ghost's purpose, in this case the lab, and their fear, the ghost-hunting Fentons. We've got her now. Wake him up."

Maddie tried to keep Danny from doing it, but she couldn't really do anything herself and every time she even tried to move, Jazz would point her gun at her.

Jack sprang out of bed with a great cry of "GHOST!" and had soon added his own blazing weapon to those of her children.

She knew that their weapons shouldn't hurt her. She was still herself. She wasn't a ghost. She couldn't be a ghost. And those weapons didn't hurt humans. She knew that. She should because they were her plans. But that scientific knowledge didn't do much to help the feeling that grew in the pit of her stomach as she found herself facing the business end of a bazooka.

What made it even worse was the fact that they were wielded by her own family.

And their inventions had honed in on Danny before. Oh, gosh, had this been what it was like for him? Growing up never knowing when your own parents would end up shooting you at point blank range, even if it wasn't on purpose? No wonder he had grown so far apart from them these past years. She would do the same if she thought it would make her life longer.

And so she was pulled back to the situation at hand. She was going to die. Well, she didn't really know if ghosts could die again, but, she didn't want to be the one to find out.

She didn't want to die.

She didn't want to be studied under a microscope.

She didn't want to be pulled apart molecule by molecule.

But nothing she said or did convinced the people in front of her—her husband and her children—that they shouldn't do those things.

Their eyes were hard and their weapons firmly trained on her. She couldn't move, because she didn't know how and they would shoot her if she tried.

She couldn't explain because she didn't know what was going on and they wouldn't listen.

She didn't know how long she was sitting there, crying, waiting for her loved ones to pull the trigger as they decided to advance on her. She didn't want to see it when they actually decided to do it, so she closed her eyes and curled into a ball.

Slowly, she surrendered to the inevitable, letting the dark wash over her, drowning out all noise and focusing very hard on nothing.

When it came, she didn't expect it to feel cool, tingling, almost. It was a strange sensation, but definitely a welcome once since she had been expecting searing heat and pain. And then came the rushing, as if she were being pulled away to another place, passing through space and time to meet... whatever was on the other side.

She let herself relax a bit and give in to the exhilarating feeling she had tried to imitate earlier with her attempts at flying. So this is what it felt like to die... to fly...

Soon, the feeling left her, as if she were slowing down. She didn't want to slow down, though. She didn't want to face whatever was coming next. She wanted to lose herself forever in that feeling, that feeling of exhilaration and weightlessness. She could forget herself; forget the glares of hatred and the feeling of utter despair.

When she remembered that, all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sob her heart out. So that was what she did, this time uninhibited by fear of anyone watching or disturbing her.

Her eyes finally dried up and Maddie became more conscious of the world around her.

Without lifting her head, she could tell that she was laying on something hard, like concrete. There was a soft breeze playing with her tousled hair.

She sat up and found to her surprise, that she was not in heaven or the Ghost Zone or some beyond realm. She was still in the real world. In fact, she was still in Amity Park, on top of a building and sheltered from the world by the billboard proclaiming the town a great place to live.

She blinked, very confused. Why was she here, of all places? And how had she gotten here?

That question was either answered or thrown from her mind when a voice spoke beside her.

"Are... are you okay?"

She was up in a shot, in a defensive position, and very happy to find that she once again had both feet on the ground.

The speaker put his hands up to show that he meant no harm.

It was the last person she had ever expected to see right now. Phantom.

She didn't let her guard down at all. He was still her enemy; she had hunted him far too often for him to be wanting to ally with her.

Why he didn't shoot her while she was down was beyond her. Unless he wanted to satisfaction of watching her suffer even more. She didn't doubt it.

She pulled herself together surprisingly quickly.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

He backed up a step to show that he wasn't a threat but also that he had no intention of leaving.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay..."

"Ha!" She scoffed. "You wanted to see if I was okay?"

He deflated and took another half step backwards.

"Yes. Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yes it is. You are a ghost."

"So are you." He countered.

"You are my enemy."

"You were never mine."

He looked serious when he said it, wistful too, almost sad. It wasn't what she expected. Then again, none of this had been what she had expected. Here was Phantom and he hadn't even tried to shoot her.

"Why didn't you shoot me while I was down?"

The ghost snorted. "If I wanted you to be shot, I would have let the Fentons do it."

She was so shocked at the meaning behind that statement that she lost her defensive pose.

"You mean... you stopped them from shooting?"

"Well, not from shooting. There are probably a bunch of holes in your walls, but kept them from shooting at you, yes."

"I... I don't understand..."

He smiled tightly. "I didn't expect you to. Not yet, anyway. But we're not all the same, we ghosts." He licked his lips and looked at her nervously. "I'm... I'm going to sit down, is that okay with you?"

"Yeah..."

"Right. Well, um... do you... want to talk about it?"

She was lost. "Talk about it?"

He quickly tried to explain. "Well, only if you want to. I know a lot of ghosts don't want to talk about how they died or what happened right afterwards, so I completely understand if you don't want to..."

That wasn't the point she was hung up on, however.

"With you?" she asked, rather incredulously.

"Why not with me? I _am_ the only person around..."

She was drawn to answer him almost without thinking, but then caught herself. What was she doing? She couldn't open up to a ghost about her family problems! Public enemy number one! The slimy scumbag would probably...

But... was that really what he was? Was that really what she was?

No, no, it couldn't be! It wasn't!

Not all ghosts were evil. It wasn't true! It wasn't true.

Even though that was what her life's work amounted to, it meant less than nothing to her after her death. Even though all of the empirical, scientific evidence pointed to the fact that every spirit was malevolent, she couldn't see it, couldn't feel it now. And she had to believe her senses.

All at once, the world came tumbling down around her. Everything she had ever thought, ever felt, gone. The foundation of her beliefs crumbled. She knew that she had been wrong. She just knew. Not that it would help her now...

Tears filled her eyes as she realized the hopelessness of the situation. Phantom blurred and swirled in her vision until he had disappeared.

It wouldn't help her, but she wasn't evil!

Her hands fisted and she squeezed her eyes tight shut. She was ready to hyperventilate again, her limbs losing their feeling and her head fogging up until she could hold onto nothing except for a single thought.

She wasn't evil.

She wasn't.

She wasn't...

...

Maddie woke with a start.

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><p><strong>The story was supposed to continue with Maddie and Phantom having a long and informative bonding session, but that obviously didn't come about… and maybe that's just as well, as I feel that this story was already becoming <strong>**rather cliché. Did you think so? I feel that dream sequences and Maddie quasi-psuedo-semi becoming a ghost could easily be overworked, and I really try to stay away from anything that could remotely resemble cookie-cutter storytelling, so please tell me if it came too close... :/  
><strong>


	10. Iota

**A short one this time, but hopefully you enjoy.  
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**And this collection just got 2,000 hits. 8D Haha- happy birthday to me! I am so thrilled- you guys are awesome!  
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><p><strong>Iota<strong>

**Week Two: July 15, 2011**

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~ a very small quantity or degree ~

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><p>Two gentlemen stood deeply engaged in a diverting conversation that mostly revolved around tea and crumpets and the rule of Victoria (God save the Queen).<p>

They were impressive figures in their long flowing overcoats and top hats. One had a perfectly maintained mustache that curled to perfection while the other effortlessly held a monocle up to one eye.

Their train of thought was disrupted, however, when they— and everything around them— were rocked by a violent explosion, the proof of which they heard several seconds after they had recovered their composure.

"Gadzooks." Said one.

"Sink me." Said the other.

There was silence for a moment. That seemed to be all there was to say on the subject.

They resumed their conversation, changing the subject to talk about that year's tiger hunting season in the colonies and the modest proposal to solve the Irish problem, but had not gone far when they both stopped again, mid-sentence.

They looked at each other, thoroughly puzzled.

"Odd's fish." Said the first.

"Begad." Replied the second.

A definite chill had rippled through the air and made them both shiver—a very hard thing to accomplish since they were both ghosts currently sitting in the middle of the Ghost Zone, but there it was; there was no denying it.

They each briefly wondered what could be causing that day's unusual weather when another sound reached them.

It was a cackle. A very definite, no-nonsense-about-it cackle.

There were very few cacklers about and these two gentlemen had made the point very clear that they simply would not stand for it. They accordingly rose with one mind, ready to deal with whatever young spirit had neglected to learn the ways of their territory.

Absolutely no cackling allowed. None whatsoever. Not the merest sliver or smidgen would be permitted.

The cacophonous noise grew louder and louder until they finally saw the culprit fly into view.

It was a young ghost, hideously dressed in a skin-tight black and white suit, with a mess of white flames atop a face covered in outstanding red veins and prominently featuring two crazed, black-rimmed eyes.

They stepped out into his path of flight and addressed him.

"My dear fellow..." one started.

"Now, see here, old chap..." the other followed.

The cackler had stopped flying and laughing and now stood looking at these two relics of a time long passed as if trying to understand who on earth _they_ thought they were to be stopping _him_.

"You cannot just _do_ things like that." The first continued.

The spirit cocked his head as an incredulous look began to grow in his bloodshot eyes.

"Do things like what?" his unnaturally deep voice asked.

"Whatever was that ghastly wail." The second finished.

"Ghostly wail?"

"No, ghastly." One corrected.

"We won't stand for any more of it." The other concluded.

The young ghost was silent for a moment, then flicked a forked tongue between its teeth and, as a slow demented smile grew so that it threatened to split his face, said, "Oh, don't worry... you won't have to."

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><p><strong>These two English gentlemen appear right before the opening credits of <em>Fanning the Flames<em>. When they hear Tucker's singing, they ask "what on earth was that ghostly wail?" Cue the light bulb moment. :) Ever since then, I knew that I wanted to use them in vignette to explain the naming of a certain power...**

**Haha. And yes, I know. This was... odd. ;) But before you complain, realize that I at least spared you the inclusion of "Hugger-Mugger" somewhere... I was seriously considering it, but figured that you have already been exposed to my love of the Scarlet Pimpernel and its lingo enough that I don't need to include my fascination of Shakespearean insults on top of that. XD **

**So, uh, let me know what you thought?**


	11. Nerves

**Just a reminder- this is an AU premise. There isn't much explanation, but you should figure it out as you read along. If not... feel free to ask. :) **

**And... I have absolutely no idea what genre this is. Haha. Let me know if you figure it out.**

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><p><strong>Nerves<strong>

**Week Three: July 25, 2011  
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[And just to put this out there, I really like this prompt because it can be taken in so many different ways. I think I counted five...]

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><p>Valerie started walking through the rest of the compound. It wouldn't hurt to become acquainted with the layout of the place even if there was an extremely small chance that she would actually find Maddie if she just wandered off without knowing where she was going or where the instructor could be now.<p>

Nevertheless, Valerie started off at a determined pace, her vigilant eyes taking in her surroundings: the rough but comfortable barracks to house all the members of the group, the long and low building big enough to hold meetings and serve meals that opened out in great square columns, the odd pathways and shortcuts that ran through or past the various buildings situated in what must have been some sort of order but which left open irregular open areas wherever she looked.

After a few minutes, she found herself turning a corner to face an intimate field, enclosed by buildings on all sides. The grass here was green, but had been lightly trampled down. Perhaps it was a sparring field.

Indeed, there was a lone figure standing there now. He was not going through forms, however, but leaned against a large boulder, looking fixedly at a spot on the wall across from him, apparently lost in thought.

Valerie looked at him curiously. She had passed several groups of people training, talking, or in transit to some strategic meeting, but they had all been adults, many years older than herself. The person closest to her own age here had been the annoying redhead she talked to when she first came in. When asked, the girl had so enthusiastically explained to Valerie that she was allowed to be in the Ghosthunter's compound because she was older than she was, she was not doing any dangerous work or going out onto the field like she was looking to do, and, of course, it helped that she was Maddie's daughter. The girl had said that no one Valerie's age would ever be allowed to join the Ghosthunters. No matter how hard she asked, Maddie would never allow children in to do such dangerous work.

Yet, this boy here, who obviously belonged here and had been here for a while, looked like he was no older than she was.

She sized him up quickly. There wasn't really that much to see. This black-haired kid was scrawny. Thin. Not aware of his surroundings. Not prepared for anything that might come his way. Standing around lost in thought- ghosts probably the last thing on his mind. Not dedicated. Not nearly as dedicated as she was.

If they would let him in, surely they would give her the chance to prove herself. She knew that she would put more of her heart and soul into the work than most of the people recruited by the leaders of this compound. She had some training, not as much as she needed, it was true- she would at least acknowledge that to herself- but once she got into the program that would be remedied immediately.

She would be the force's greatest asset if only they would let her.

Valerie stepped forward and the boy glanced over. He took in her appearance with lazy blue eyes and quickly looked away again as if she did not matter. He did not seem to care who she was or why she was there.

Perhaps he had assumed that she was someone else's daughter come for a visit instead of the warrior she hoped to become, but that was the very last thing she wanted. Even if he was just some kid who happened to randomly be here waiting for his father to come out of one of the surrounding buildings, she couldn't be summed up and dismissed as someone who didn't matter. Especially if he was just some kid who was spending the afternoon here.

Who on earth did he think he was? He didn't know who she was or what she planned on accomplishing. But she was sure of one thing: she would not go away without having made an impression on him.

She walked up to him quite purposefully, although she tried to appear less intense and openly hostile by curtly nodding and saying, "Hey."

He looked at her again and quietly sighed, now obviously annoyed that she had come up to him instead of leaving him alone. The moment he managed to find a quiet spot and a moment to himself...

He didn't say anything.

"I'm Valerie."

Still no answer.

Valerie was determined to win this one. It was obvious now that this wasn't a kid she cared to know or befriend, but she was going to have her victory before she left. He would acknowledge her.

"Who're you?"

"Danny." And then he looked away again.

She gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she hated in life, it was being overlooked, passed over like she didn't matter. She wouldn't stand for it. Not from him.

"I'm looking for Maddie." She waited, but when it was clear that the boy wouldn't answer her, she had to continue. "Have you seen her?"

"Not since this morning."

Valerie pressed him again for an answer, any kind of answer that would help. "Do you know where she is?"

"Nope."

She took a deep breath to calm herself at his flippant response before trying again. "Do you know where she could be?"

"She could be anywhere."

Valerie practically growled. "Look, kid..."

"The name's Danny, Val," he said, rounding to face her squarely for the first time. His hazy blue eyes taunting her, issuing some kind of a challenge as they seemed to be annoyed with her and laughing at her and being completely indifferent at the same time. "If you're going to ask for it, use it."

"I'm not here to play games!" she spat out. "I need to know where Maddie is and I need to know now."

Danny snorted. "She's kind of in charge of the place," He gestured to everything around him. "And needs to keep her eye on everything. It's nearly impossible to track her down. She could be doing anything from teaching private judo lessons or checking the kitchen supplies to strategizing the next hit or screening possible new recruits."

Valerie sighed impatiently. "Look, are you going to help me or not?"

"I don't really see why I should... but I have answered all of your questions."

He crossed his arms and stared at the dark skinned girl as she grew even more frustrated.

"Not helpfully!"

"Truthfully," he shot back.

"Gah!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Why is everyone around here such a head-job? I can't get through anywhere. First the red-head at the desk, now you!"

Danny's tensed shoulders suddenly relaxed and he chuckled.

"Oh... you met Jazz."

"Yeah, and she tried to talk me out of coming in here."

"She's certainly one to talk about anything," he acknowledged.

"Yeah, but she can't talk me out of joining up."

Danny looked at Valerie, a little surprised, and appraised her again, as if he thought he was missing a few pieces when he sized her up the first time. It didn't take him long to do it, but his gaze was not sharp or piercing like hers was, or like a warrior's should have been. It was a dull kind of stare, followed by a dull sort of comment.

"You're stupid."

And then he began to walk away.

Valerie stood there for a minute as if in shock, but then the full weight of what he had said began to sink into her brain. He had just said... this kid, this scrawny little pathetic kid had actually had the nerve to call her...?

She stood stock still for a moment, fists clenched until her knuckles turned white. And then she decided that she didn't even want to try to rein in her emotions. This kid had asked for it. He had royally asked for it and now he was going to get it.

With a shout, she lunged forward toward his retreating back. She shoved as hard as she could, and he fell to the ground.

She thought the whole thing was over then and there as he lay sprawled on the grass, but when she blinked, the boy was up again and facing her with an expressionless face and still those two brilliantly colored but dull eyes. They lazily watched her movements and she smiled to herself, sure that he wouldn't be quick enough to follow her next movements. This would be too easy.

The continued circling each other for a few moments more before she made her move.

Lashing out in a side kick that would have made any martial arts teacher proud, Valerie planted a solid blow to Danny's side. Somehow, though, her foot met with more resistance than she thought could possibly be there. Instead of breaking in half or toppling to the ground, Danny caught himself as he moved only a few inches to the side, twisting round to face her again.

Valerie's eyes went wide when, seemingly without effort, he caught her wrist as her hand flew to land on his face with her follow-up to the initial kick. His grip was iron tight and his arm, skinny as a twig, somehow managed to hold her flailing arm in place with ease.

Then, somehow, she was free, circling him again with a mind trying to catch up with what had happened. Before she had had a chance to recover and plan her next move, she found that it was planned for her.

Valerie blocked a jab, then a punch, and ducked below an elbow strike that would have hit her head. But Danny never followed-up with his movements; he never actually tried to hit her. He just jabbed and feinted. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have had to worry about a foe who wasn't trying to actually harm her, but his movements were relentless, coming at her from every side and every angle when she was least expecting it.

She looked at him with wide teal eyes, trying to figure out where he was going to strike next, and also what on earth he was doing. He did not seem mad or vengeful. Her head would have been throbbing several times over if that had been the case.

His attacks were calm and methodical; he wasn't even breathing hard. That was when she realized- he was holding back. It was almost as if he were testing her, trying to see how much she could take.

It made her angry to think that he was playing with her like this. He shouldn't even be able to hold his own against anyone or anything. And he thought he could get away with toying with her? No way...

She lashed out with everything she had, aiming blow after blow to his head and chest with a ferocious yell. But none of them made contact and the last punch of her series left her open for him to slip in a soft blow to her chest, just below the base of her neck.

It didn't hurt her. It didn't do anything more than knock the wind out of her, but the effect was immediate and she stopped mid-move and grasped at her throat as she collapsed to the ground. Her eyes went wide with worry when she found that she was unable to breathe, but a few seconds later, she was coughing to clear her windpipes and then was swallowing the sweet air again.

It hadn't taken long, but the episode was long enough for him to declare a silent victory and for her to feel totally humiliated.

Once she had recovered from the last blow, Danny knelt down to look her over. After a few seconds, he decided that she was fine and stared her in the eye.

She was looking at him as if wondering where on earth that had come from. She hadn't expected anything like that at all. She should have been able to take him down without any effort, but he had been the one to do it to her, and without even breaking a sweat. He shouldn't have been that good. He didn't look like he was any good. Even after what he had just done to her, she could not imagine that he was capable of doing much at all.

And he seemed to be oblivious to her whole train of thought. He didn't care that he had knocked her down or that to her at least, he shouldn't have been able to.

"I'm the son of ghost hunters," he said quietly, but with more emotion that he had yet used. "I couldn't get out of this if I tried." He paused, looking for something in her face. "What's your excuse?"

"A ghost ruined my life." She hissed.

"Ghosts ruin a lot of people's lives. Are you out to help them too or just get your own personal revenge?"

She gaped for a few moments before screeching, "How dare you! I take Phantom down and the whole world is a better place!"

His expression didn't change. The remarkable thing is that she had expected it to. She had just yelled into his face, surely that deserved some kind of reaction.

She thought that her speech would make him realize her great goal and true potential. She thought that he would help her up with a change of heart and say, 'well, in that case, Valerie, let me show you the way to Maddie and I'll convince her to let you sign up so that you can help change the world.'

But nothing. There was none of that. Not a flicker of emotion passed over his face.

He just looked at her silently for a moment, then quickly got up and left without another word.

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><p><strong>This is another chapter that could be turned into a longer story. I really like the premise, but alas, my inspiration always leaves me once I get a one-shot out of an idea. :( Maybe this is my subconscious trying to tell me that I should stick with one-shots. I don't know... :P Unfortunate, but there it is.<strong>

**Oh, and this was my first time writing for Valerie. I had been putting it off because she's so intense and complex even while she had a one-track obsessive mind that it intimidated me to even try. I think this was alright, but I would really, really love to hear how you think this turned out and if her reactions were realistic.**


	12. Ancient Town

**Incredibly enough, this brings me to the end of our challenge prompts. Plus, I'm back at college now (hence the delays in responding, sorry), so I think that this is it for the summer.**

**I've thoroughly enjoyed the ride and hope you have too. A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or alerted this collection! I love getting feedback on these and have really been encouraged and inspired to write more than I have in years.**

**For that, I thank you. :D**

**(Post Scriptum: haha- my word count! XD)  
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><p><strong>Ancient Town<strong>

Week Three: August 4, 2011

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_No place to hide dreams / In crying faces / Nowhere to turn to / In Ancient Town / No names to follow / Some empty stations / No one remembers / This Ancient Town  
>No trees to shelter  A night for sleeping / No love to silence / In Ancient Town / No voice confesses / The heart is broken / No time tomorrow / In Ancient Town  
>Seantithe briste bearnacha (The ruins of old houses)<br>No street to find you / Just falling circles / No way to answer / For Ancient Town / No road to guide me / The signs are drowning / No way to trouble / This Ancient Town_

.

Marie Brennan – Ancient Town - from Two Horizons

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><p>Danny was zooming through the Ghost Zone, flying so fast that he wasn't sure where he was going. In fact, he didn't really care. As long as wherever he was headed would get him away from Skulker, or at least gave him a reprieve from the upgraded arm cannons, it was good with him.<p>

Even a few seconds would be good. A minute was more than he could hope for, but he wished for it all the same.

He had passed many landmarks that he had recognized, going by Skulker's skull island, Youngblood's twisted forest, Spectra's counselor's office, and Ember's door—conspicuous for the musical note adorning the front in flaming aqua. But that had been many minutes and miles ago. He was now far beyond the familiar landmarks and even past regions he had not fully explored. Now he was surrounded by new and unrecognizable sights. He did not know where he was, and every moment he was flying faster and still faster.

It was an uneven match between Skulker's steady and unflagging speed, thanks to his suit, and Danny's flight, even though it was adrenaline driven, as it began to fail. The length and intensity of the chase was already starting to wear the halfa down. He would not be able to keep this up much longer. Soon, he would be at the ghost's mercy.

Still, he was determined to make it hard for Skulker. Danny still had a few tricks up his sleeve.

While they gave him a few more minutes to live, however, they also had their downsides. A left turn here, a dive there, some crazy diagonal to escape a cannon-powered trident knife and Danny realized that he had no clue where he was.

He could be anywhere in the Ghost Zone, really, passing anyone's lair, not knowing whether the spirit was friend, foe, or indifferent to him. He had nothing to rely on, nothing even to guide him home from this point, and still, nothing to give him shelter from the hunter on his tail.

"Get back here, whelp!" Skulker shouted angrily, the demand accompanied by a mechanical whine.

Danny gave a quick laugh which he trusted carried back in the wind since he didn't dare look behind him. He couldn't afford the lost time.

"In your dreams, Skulker." Danny's voice was hoarse, but unmistakably defiant. The situation wasn't looking good for him, but his fighting spirit was still there.

Despite running for dear life, Danny decided it was high time to chance a taunt. Witty banter always made him feel a bit more confident in situations like this.

"I thought you were the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter. But I guess I heard wrong, 'cause I'm right in front of you and you still can't catch me… whoa—!"

He swerved just in time to miss the shot his comment had provoked.

Skulker smiled. The whelp was slowing down. He barely moved quickly enough to get out of the way with that dart. And that pleased him. "Ah, that's just what you think, ghost-child. Very soon your head will be mounted on my wall."

Danny tried to ignore all of the urges that made him want to cringe and go 'eww' at hearing that boast and instead concentrating on keeping as much distance between him and the ghost as possible.

"I'm enjoying this part of the game," Skulker continued as he crept up little by little on Danny's tail. He wasn't concerned at all about what Danny might do now. The outcome of this day was set in steel. "A little cat and mouse, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, well…" Danny faltered and fumbled for words, straining with the exertion of trying to be witty and fast at the same time. He could just hear the smirk in the hunter's voice, too. He hated it and hated the fact that he wasn't able to do anything about it. The whole situation was getting out of hand. "The mouse normally gets a head start or a hole to hide in at least, doesn't he?"

"Perhaps," Skulker replied lazily. "But you are not a mouse. You are a different kind of prey. You have different rules."

Different rules. Danny paused for a moment, wondering if he could steer this conversation and what Skulker had said to his favor somehow. He thought that he should be able to. It was just so hard to think while flying at top speed, though.

"So, since I'm supposedly such a great prey, don't I deserve a little more of a head start?" Danny called back over his shoulder. "You know, just to make this more interesting?"

He heard Skulker's laughter behind him, rolling in waves past him it was so hearty.

"Ah, ghost-child, you are too amusing!"

Danny could almost see him wiping his eyes of imaginary tears with those huge metallic hands and decided that then was as good a time as he would find to make his move.

Giving himself no time to think about or double guess his decision, Danny dove steeply downward and to the right, heading for something he had seen in the distance. He couldn't tell what it was yet, but any sort of structure or obstruction would give him a better chance to face Skulker than having to keep his retreating back to him all the time as he raced blindly through the Ghost Zone. And if Skulker had actually been wiping his eyes of crocodile tears, it could take him a few seconds to look back up and discover that he was gone—a few seconds that Danny would make the most of.

Danny put on an extra burst of speed, hoping to make it to whatever that was in the distance before Skulker saw what he was doing. It was a long shot, but he tried anyway.

The hunter hadn't expected anything to change while chasing the halfa and so it took him long, precious moments to figure out the slip his prey had given him. But he smiled when he recognize the trick that had been played. Danny was still too close to get away from him completely, so he could afford to be amused and follow at a leisurely pace.

Skulker quirked a large metal eyebrow when he realized where his quarry was headed. He took his time flying down to the ancient town, knowing full well what its ruins contained.

The child had wanted to make this chase a little more interesting; well, it had just gotten much more interesting.

* * *

><p>Unlike Skulker, however, Danny did not know anything about the place he had escaped to.<p>

Once he had landed, he found himself staring at the ramshackle buildings that stretched to touch the green clouds that hovered in the stale air of the Ghost Zone. The structures were so odd that he found himself gaping at them lost in thought. Snapping himself out of the trance-like state into which he had fallen, Danny realized that he couldn't let Skulker catch him standing around gawking at the architecture.

His priorities were clear and the consequences for not following them in the right order were deadly. He needed to get to safety and he needed to do it now.

Even though a glance over his shoulder showed him that Skulker hadn't doubled his pace to catch up with him, he needed to get out of sight and put as much space between them as possible. Every yard gave him an extra moment to maneuver; perhaps it would be the difference between making it behind some cover and being blasted to smithereens by the next round of darts to be fired.

And he did really want to get home alive instead of turning into one of the ghost's wall mountings. Danny swallowed as he thought about it, but quickly pushed the gruesome image from his mind. It would not help him now.

While he needed to find a good hiding spot, however, Danny also needed to get a feel of where he was and on what kind of terrain he would be fighting. That information would become invaluable to him over the next hour or so, so he dared to stop and look around him in what was almost awe as he made his way through the streets of this place.

It was… strange.

That was probably the best way to describe it. Everything around him seemed… odd. Just a little bit off, as if something was almost but not quite wrong with it. There wasn't anything Danny could specifically point to when he tried to figure it out. Maybe an angle off here or a proportion that wasn't quite possible there, but when he did a double take to really looked closely at anything, it seemed fine, perfectly normal.

The longer he stayed there, however, the more he realized the town was far from normal. It wasn't just the age of the ruins, either. The place felt twisted.

As Danny passed corner after corner which led into narrow street after narrow street and alleyway after alleyway, he saw that the place was rather like a maze. He didn't know where he was going. There wasn't a safe spot he could make for… he was just going along and hoping for the best. There was nothing except for the crooked street signs to point him in any direction, but these could not help since he was not familiar with the layout of the town in the first place. He had no clue which streets ran in which direction or led to which places. If he had known that, he wouldn't need to blindly choose which turns to take based upon how the names of the streets read.

Left on _Caillte_.

Left again on _Gaiste_ and a right on _Ait_ just to mix it up. He seemed to be heading in the right direction but as he came to a dead end, he closed his eyes and prayed that turning right would not go wrong.

The buildings had been constructed too close together, nearly on top of one another, crowding and greedy for ground. They towered above him and leaned out above the streets as if to block him from the light. They somehow managed to cast long dark shadows on him no matter in which direction he was moving.

Every door he passed was shut and barred. After a while, he realized that it was a waste of time to even try them.

The walls were pale and colorless with large dark windows that looked like dead eyes following his every move.

It was creepy.

It took him all of sixty seconds to come to that conclusion. Before Danny had been running through the place for five minutes, he wanted to be far, far away. But he couldn't. That was the killer. He couldn't just leave now that he had gotten here.

This place, odd as it was, was the only thing keeping him head on his shoulders.

* * *

><p>Skulker had since descended into the town; the arena, as he began thinking of it in his mind.<p>

It would certainly be interesting to see how the whelp fared here…

Smirking, he flew around much more cautiously than his young prey had, taking special notice of where he had landed and what was around him.

While slowly walking along the main thoroughfare leading into the ruins, trying to decide how best to go after the boy, he passed by two streets, not following them because of the interlocking circles engraved deep but fading on the drab grey walls. On the third, he decided it was safe to turn, making his way toward the middle of the ruins, where the buildings stood the tallest.

He shook his head as he imagined the haphazard way Phantom would have flown past all of the derelict buildings, ignoring the signs. Who knew what he had gotten himself into already, in just a few minutes time?

It would certainly put a new layer onto this hunt, in one sense making it easier for him because the ghost-child did not know what he was doing in a place like this, as he did, but in another sense also making it harder to catch the whelp. He would need to be wary while chasing down his prey, taking care lest he be so eager to get close that he would be swept up into the same pitfalls as the idiotic hothead he was chasing.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Danny was looking around him in dread and apprehension.<p>

Everything seemed dead and empty, far too empty even for a town in the Ghost Zone. It just seemed drained of all life and spirit. There was barely any color around him. There was no movement except for a few derelict pieces of cloth fluttering over what at one point in time must have been a market stall for fruits or jewelry. It was the only open space he had seen; the rest of the buildings were cut off to him, running far up above him in sheer walls that shut him out from whatever was inside.

Danny shivered, not sure that he wanted to know what was inside.

He just wanted to get out. He wanted to get out of this place and away from Skulker.

Right now he should be in bed. Or maybe in Lancer's class. Perhaps school had even let out already and could well be on his way to milkshakes at the Nasty Burger. He had lost all sense of time, except for the fact that now he thought about it, he was a bit hungry. But no matter what the time was or what else he had been planning on doing today, he would rather be almost anywhere but here.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to go, to get away from this creepy place. Like a hunted rabbit cowering in tall grass, he had the urge only to move, even if it would get him killed. He couldn't just walk along down here in this forsaken place where his feet made no noise on the ground. Flying wasn't much better for his nerves and no matter how far he tried to go, he never seemed to get anywhere.

This place seemed to go on forever. He had already been walking for a nearly an hour and he didn't seem to be any closer to the other side of the town than when he had started. The place hadn't looked that big when he first flew to it…

He hadn't seen sign of Skulker yet, but he knew that he must be around here somewhere, lying in wait. If he just continued walking, he might turn a corner to race into the ghost's outstretched sword at any moment. He couldn't risk it, continuing like this, but what else was he to do?

It was when he passed that same stall again, somehow having come in a full circle that he panicked. Throwing his eyes to the street sign on the corner, he knew that this wasn't another place that looked eerily similar but the same one he had passed. No, it was the same one.

He was walking in circles.

His mind had barely processed that fact when he did follow his instincts. Without pausing to think at all about the dangers of doing so, Danny shot straight up, hoping to rocket out of that town and continue his high speed chase across the empty green air of the Ghost Zone. That was better than this freakish place. It was far better than this.

He raced blindly up to the rooftops to get away, but he did not even get close to getting out.

Instead, he flew full force into something blocking his path. It wasn't like a ghost shield; it didn't tingle or sting when he hit it and it was cold, unfeeling, unyielding, like glass. He hit it with a loud _thunk_ and proceeded to fall, only managing to catch himself inches from the ground.

Danny put his hand to his head until the stars stopped swirling and then looked back up, struck by the sudden realization that he was stuck, stranded in this place. That shield or whatever it was, was keeping him in here.

There was no way out.

* * *

><p>Skulker was aware of the precise instant that Danny had crashed into the invisible barrier. Besides the loud noise made on impact, at the moment the ghost-child had hit the shield, he had triggered or activated something. Everything around the hunter began to change.<p>

He was wary enough of this place to be on his guard and levitate when he saw the place was taking on a mind of its own. That quick thinking was the only reason Skulker wasn't sucked into the ground when the pathways disappeared and the cobblestones were swallowed by the oozing dust that replaced them.

From all around him came a low rumbling. He whipped around, trying to locate the source of the noise with the various gadgets built into his newly upgraded metal suit. Their readings were disrupted, though. There was too much interference. It seemed like the noise was coming from all around him; he couldn't locate a single source.

Was there still an inhabitant of this ancient town prepared to defend its home from intruders? He hadn't heard of such a thing, but then again, no one had heard much of this place.

He understood what the noise meant, however, as the buildings themselves began to shift around at the same time the paths and roads between them vanished.

The place had come alive.

The circles on the wall which he had barely been able to notice before now etched themselves in the walls so that they were deeply carved and distinct. That was odd in and of itself but then in addition to that, the symbols began to glow in an ancient ghostly green.

From somewhere above their heads, more shields like the one Danny had run into in his aborted flight descended from somewhere and snapped into place around the new city. Unlike the previous one, these were visible. Skulker gasped as he saw what looked like a deep blue field of stars descending upon them. Everywhere he looked, it was twilight, even though the Ghost Zone had never known sun or stars.

There was only one small break in the starry shield ceiling. Far above them, in what appeared to be a magnificent constellation set in deep space, was a small green spot.

A hole that led out.

* * *

><p>Danny could see it, just a few hundred feet above him and over a few rows of buildings, an opening of soft green light that looked strangely welcoming as it poured through the twilight barrier.<p>

It was the only way he could escape from this town, Danny was sure of it. He tried for a second time to fly upward toward the hatch to freedom, but yet again, he did not make it there. In fact, he did not make it as far as he had during his first attempt. Instead, he was stopped as soon as he tried to go over a roof. There was an invisible wall, like the one he had flown into earlier to activate all of these changes that stopped him.

After recovering from the second blow to his head that day, he put his hand out to press against the partition. Danny didn't care any more about the fact that he was exposed to any enemies floating up here without a thought to creating a shield of his own.

All he wanted to do was find a way out.

Hand over hand, he discovered that the wall went all the way up to the starry canopy and there was no way through it. There were no cracks, no seams, not even where the wall met the ceiling. Neither ice nor ectoblasts nor the raw power of his punch could crack it.

He wasn't ready to risk a wail since his other powers simply bounced back at him the moment they hit the invisible or starry walls.

Finally, in desperation, he let out a scream, slamming into the shield with all of his might even though he knew it would do him no good.

The sound pierced through the air, venting all of his frustration, but abruptly disappeared moments after he let it loose. It was simply gone. It had not died out and he had not finished—his mouth was still open, in fact— but the noise was not there. It was like a gust of wind had whipped it out of existence, only, there had been no wind.

His mouth closed and his eyes went wide. His scream… was gone… and it scared him, scared him more than anything else had so far.

Nothing that happened in this place was natural. He had walked in circles, been trapped by shields that wouldn't break, the whole town had rearranged itself, and now the sounds vanished?

But… the noises weren't gone. Danny was slowly becoming aware of other sounds, new sounds. Ones that he hadn't heard before.

Movement. Whispers. Fragments of whispers that floated past him, caressing his face.

Biting back a scream of fright, he looked around, trying to find where they were coming from. He half expected to see ghosts of the people who had lived here appearing around him, faces peering out of the soulless windows. But nothing.

Shivers ran uncontrollably down his spine.

There was nothing there, yet these whispers continued, singing to him, warning him, urging him to do… something.

He felt like he was being suffocated by the voices that didn't belong to anyone or anything. Danny swung around, as if somehow able to swat the whispers away like they were so many flies.

And then there was a long, low laugh, one that made his hair stand all on edge. But it was one he recognized. His first response surprised him. He felt a flood of relief to hear the real voice of someone he knew and recognized.

Turning, he saw Skulker on the ground many yards away. But after the first rush of relief had passed, Danny realized that the ghost was laughing at him.

Angrily, Danny turned to blast the metal hunk of a ghost, only to have his blast ricochet to him yet again, stopped by the shield above the rows of houses separating the spirits. He avoided the stream of green energy and looked down to growl at the hunter who seemed even more amused at this newest turn of events.

"What is this, Skulker? Where are we?" He demanded, his voice torn between fear and anger and the desire to cover them both.

Skulker just smiled, sounding all too pleased with the way Danny was emotionally cracking. He drew out his words for as long as possible, just to torture the boy even more. "This, ghost-child, is the Ancient Town."

Danny paused, thinking. He couldn't place it. "Which ancient town?" he finally asked.

"Not 'which ancient town,'" Skulker scoffed. "_The _Ancient Town. It is one of the oldest places in this half of the Ghost Zone."

Surprised at first that Skulker was willing to talk about this place, Danny realized that it really wasn't that odd since neither one could hurt each other now. They had both lost the chance to blast at their opponent because of the partitions. Danny was safe from the ghost for the moment, if not from his surroundings. So he figured it was his best bet to find out about this place while Skulker was still in a talkative mood.

"Where did it come from? Who lived here?"

"I do not know."

Danny's mouth flew open. "What? You don't know? How do you not know, Skulker? You know everything about weird places like this, old legends and stuff…"

"I know all there is to be known about the Ancient Town," Skulker interrupted to save his reputation, rising to come to eye level with the halfa, though they were still separated by several streets and layers of shields.

Danny tensed at the movement and drew himself into a fighting position until he realized that Skulker wasn't going to try anything. It wouldn't have worked anyway.

"But there is little to know," Skulker continued. "No ghosts entered this realm with the ruins, so there was no guide to tell its history. No one remembers this place. Few were adventurous enough to venture into the town's walls and the stories of those who did were enough to discourage many from trying who otherwise might have done so. For those truly curious enough to learn about its appearance, there is little here to give any clues. Most of the names, papers, artwork, records, anything that could link it to a place or time in history has long since disintegrated."

Danny thought hard. Was it really possible for an entire town to disappear into the Ghost Zone without anything to link it to the real world? There must be something left. And that was when he remembered.

"But there are the street signs," he pointed out.

Skulker's answer was not what he expected.

"Are there?" the ghost responded cryptically.

Danny was puzzled by the question.

Yes, there were the street signs; he had used them to try to make his way through the labyrinth of streets just minutes ago. When Skulker's face gave no more information about his mysterious question to him, Danny flew down to look at the signs to see if he could tell what the ghost meant.

He gasped when he saw the wooden plaques. The writing was gone, the names vanished, the ink dripping down the background as if it had been washed or eroded away by a thousand years of constantly dripping water.

There were no street signs.

Danny had to keep himself from trembling. He came back up to eye level with the ghost ready to demand what had happened, what was going on. Skulker stopped him by answering his question before it was asked.

"It happened when you so foolishly tried to fly up out of the streets, ghost-child."

Danny bristled. "Who are you calling foolish?"

"You activated the system." Skulker stated calmly.

"What… what do you mean?" Danny found it hard to mask his puzzlement and growing fear. 'Activating the system' didn't sound good, even if he didn't quite know what it meant.

Skulker gladly expounded on his earlier troubling comment. "You brought the town to life."

Danny was suddenly aware again of the presence of the whispers and the feeling that things with eyes watched him from the empty windows. The place certainly was alive and it was making his skin crawl to think about it.

He remembered that all he wanted to do was to get out of here. He was done talking.

Danny turned to go.

"Where do you think you are going, ghost-child?"

"I'm leaving."

Skulker quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh really? And just how did you intend to do that?"

Danny looked around him, seeing nothing that would help direct him to the right path. He needed to get out of the hole in the shield that he could see _right over there_. He wished he could just fly above the rooftops. It would be easy then. But he couldn't do that because of the shields.

He needed to figure out how to get out of here.

"I'm just… going to start flying and hope I get closer to that…" He pointed to his exit.

Skulker began to laugh.

It made Danny stop in his tracks and turn around to face the ghost. "What?" he demanded.

"Have you looked around you?"

"No, not really, why?" the teenager jutted out his chin in an attempt to put on a mask of defensive bravado.

Skulker was only too happy to enlighten him.

"All of the streets and paths are gone. The signs guiding you are washed away. The buildings themselves have picked themselves up to form a new pattern which in turn created more loops."

"Loops?" he asked quietly, dreading the response he expected to hear.

The ghost smiled.

"Yes, I believe you found yourself in one earlier. A street that continues endlessly in a circle so that when you think you are moving forward, you are walking a path you've already traversed."

Danny gulped and that was answer enough for Skulker.

"The shields have locked into place and there is only one way out. Only one road will take you to the center of the town and to the exit of this maze. It could take days to find it, even if you don't find yourself locked in another loop."

"You…" Danny swallowed nervously. "You seem to be taking this remarkably well considering that you're in the same boat as I am."

"Ah, but I'm already a ghost. I have all the time in the world to find my way through the labyrinth." Then Skulker smiled, a ghastly grin that made Danny's blood run cold.

"You, on the other hand, whelp, you are running out of time. You have nowhere to turn, nothing to guide you. You don't even know the twists and secrets of this place."

The halfa stood stock still for a moment before gulping and flying forward. Placing both hands on the transparent shield as if he could reach the ghost, he exclaimed, "But you do! You do, Skulker! You can help me out. You can tell me!"

Danny was practically pleading with him as he began to panic.

This was not good. Not good. Not good.

His brain couldn't handle an endless maze that shifted on him, even if his body could handle the strains of flying without food for however long it would take him.

Maybe if Skulker just warned him about what to expect, he would be able to…

"I could," the ghost admitted. "But I don't think that I will. You wanted a hole to hide in and a head start on this hunt, ghost-child."

His smile widened.

"Now you have one."

* * *

><p><strong>The street names (<em>Caillte<em>, _Gaiste_, and _Ait_) are Irish for _lost_, _trap_, and _nowhere_.**

**Again, would love to know how this went. I haven't created new places or tried much with Danny exchanging banter before (there seems to be a first for me in every one of these stories… man…). ****Since the only other thing I could think of for this prompt would be an over-used and over-dramatic, dripping-with-tragedy-so-that-I-couldn't-handle-it post-Dan-or-other-apocalyptic-force story where-everyone-but-Danny-is-dead, hopefully you can deal with my adding to cannon. :) ****But was the Ancient Town just kind of _blah_, or was it actually interesting? I had a hard time with it and would really appreciate any feedback.  
><strong>

**While this is the last chapter for this collection, I have some more ideas up my sleeve... so stay tuned!**

**Thanks again, everyone!  
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* * *

><p><strong>Bonus Feature:<strong>

Below is my original idea and "screenplay" for this chapter. It changed quite a bit...

(( Danny runs through the GZ. Skulker is following him and he has to try to get away. He tries to find shelter and gets to an ancient town that is abandoned and dead. He goes inside and everything's weird. There are circles everywhere. No echoes of his voice, but of some things that weren't sounds to being with. The road disappears. The signs get wiped out with water even though he doesn't drown or get swept away. Then, realizes he should go, he's spent too much time there and he's lost. He doesn't know which way is which or where other landmarks are that he knows. He talks out loud, "this way to _, that way to _" as the signs disappear on him. Then a voice from behind him. "No way to trouble". Skulker charges an ecto blast and barely misses his head. Danny gulps and begins flying again. Yep. That's where he was. Trouble. ... Witty banter throughout. ))


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